


at the bottom of the sea (i'll find you)

by ThePancakePenguin



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Angst, Blind Character, Mutual Pining, as if the title wasn't obvious enough, heavy water and ocean symbolism, words of wisdom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26090725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePancakePenguin/pseuds/ThePancakePenguin
Summary: “But the pearls were accidents, and the finding of one was luck, a little pat on the back by God or the gods both.” - SteinbeckLing Yao has been blind for most of his life. It changes nothing.(It changes everything.)
Relationships: Lan Fan & Ling Yao, Lan Fan/Ling Yao
Comments: 24
Kudos: 50
Collections: FMA Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY HERE!!!
> 
> This thing has been my baby for almost a year now! This was inspired by @cynicalkittycat's au on tumblr, and the many artists who contributed to it! It started as a few rewritten scenes where Ling is blind and how much (or more accurately how little) it would affect the story, but it quickly became a multi-character study, exploring Ling's relationships, and a way to express my own headcanons about Xing with his blindness as a catalyst. So everything but the actual fact that he is blind is part of my own personal headcanons.
> 
> Also, as a general rule, if a line of dialogue spoken by a Xingese character is italicized, it's being spoken in Xingese. This is also true with the more foreign words, which I think are obvious in the text, but I'll provide a translation for them in the notes at the bottom. Keep in mind that I am NOT FLUENT in Chinese, which is what I decided to use as a reference point for Xingese. I used multiple online translators, but please correct me if you've noticed a mistake!
> 
> As for italicized words in other cases, then it's just being emphasized like in usual dialogue. Ed or Al aren't suddenly speaking a different language!
> 
> I am not blind, nor do I know anyone who is. Still, I did research and tried my best to portray Ling's disability as realistically as someone with hypervigilant senses in a world where alchemy exists could get. At no point do I try to ignore his blindness, so if the way I have written this causes people in or involved in that community offense,  
> I apologize.
> 
> Big big thanks to @avarice-arts on tumblr for being my artist for this Big Bang, and to by_nina for suffering through my word vomits and beta-ing this bad boy! Please check out their amazing stuff!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

He thinks he should be more upset.

And he is. The healers have tried for weeks without success, respectfully shushing him anytime he tries to speak, to ask what will happen now. They tell him to preserve his strength, as if a good night’s rest can fix this. It’s a miracle he’s even alive, but all of his clan are mourning their prince as if he isn’t still breathing. 

_He’s too young,_ they weep. _They have doomed our clan! How will he ever survive?_

It appears everyone is grieving for the wrong person but him.

_“My lord?”_

He sits up, relieved to finally hear her voice again. _“Lan Fan?”_

 _“Yes, it’s me.”_ Her soft footfalls come to a stop next to him, the fabric of her trousers rustling as she kneels at his side. It’s strange hearing the honorifics from her. It was only a few weeks ago that she was giggling as they raced through the gardens, calling after him _Please, Ling, wait for me!_

_“Are you alright?”_

_“I should be asking_ you _that, my lord.”_

He can’t help but grimace, the cracked and burned skin along the bridge of his nose stretching painfully. _“I’m okay. I’m more worried about you.”_

Were it anyone else, they would have lied, not wishing to burden their prince anymore. But Lan Fan, she has always been honest with him, has always told him the truth. Or, at least, what she believes to be the truth. _“Grandfather has made some changes to my training, but that is to be expected. He says that once you are well, you will begin training too.”_

He understands. It is more important than ever now that he learns to defend himself. _“Will we be training together?”_

 _“That has not changed, fortunately.”_ He begins to smile, but falters as she continues. _“If I am to protect you, we must be able to work together seamlessly.”_

A cold feeling rests against his chest. She has always been quiet and reserved, but her words sound rehearsed, and he cannot tell for whose benefit. He twists the bedsheets between his fingers and speaks before he loses his nerve. _“But you shouldn’t have to protect me. Not yet.”_

_“But it is my duty, my lord, to serve you in times of peril.”_

_“I’m not in_ peril, _Lan Fan.”_

_“But Ling, your eyes-”_

_“Forget my eyes! What about—”_

She stiffens, and he wishes he’d held his tongue. He wants his friend back, but he knows that nothing will ever be as it was.

 _“I will fulfill the role that has been left to me, so you may fulfill yours,”_ she states, unable to conceal the quiver in her voice. It pains him to hear her try to suppress her grief for his sake. She should be allowed to cry, to feel the sorrow.

He’ll just have to do it for her.

The tears drip down his cheeks, and he blinks to clear them away, knowing it’s a pointless effort. He knows she wants to join him, but she can’t, not anymore. Instead, she takes his hand, to let him know that even though divided by duty they now are, his best friend has not left him. It’s selfish, but he’s glad he can’t see her heartbroken face.

_“Lan Fan?”_

_“Yes, Ling?”_

_“.… It’s very dark.”_

Her grip tightens, and she declares with the certainty that only a child can muster, _“Then allow me to be your light, my lord.”_

\---

There are three more attempts on his life over the years that he is aware of.

The first happens only a few months after he loses his sight, the enemy believing him to be an even easier target now. Fu ensures that they don’t even set foot on the grounds of the estate.

The second happens at the dawn of his seventh birthday. He remembers a great commotion, Fu scooping him up from his bed and ordering Lan Fan to lead him to safety. The assassin takes out six guards in an attempt to reach him before they are cornered. They slit their own throat, preferring death over their clan’s disgrace.

The third time, a few years later, they somehow reach his quarters and leave a trail of felled guards and unfortunate servants. And despite her training and her resolve, he can hear how harshly Lan Fan still trembles hours after the blood has been washed from her hands.

\---

Because he cares so dearly for his granddaughter and the young prince, Fu easily becomes Ling’s most strict and demanding teacher. From the first day of his training, the old man made it clear that the prince would garner no sympathy for his lack of sight. He and Lan Fan jog the same trail, lift the same weights, and spar with the same expectations placed upon them.

He teaches them how to properly breathe, the correct way to jump and run, how to turn the strength of the opponent into their own, and to read the energy of the earth, the _longmai._ Ling finds himself forgetting a time when he couldn’t feel the subtle shifts in the air around him, or hear the trace sounds of the world in its constant flux.

One day, Fu brings them into the forest to begin a new exercise. They stand in the middle of the clearing, ready for the man to give them their instructions. Ling feels the man’s stern gaze move between them, but he does not speak. Rather, Ling hears him unsheathe a blade and in one quick move, he hears the metal collide with a tree trunk and the snap of a rope.

Over Lan Fan’s sharp inhale, Ling hears a series of soft whistles. Instinctively, he grabs Lan Fan’s sleeve and pulls her down to the ground with him, the air rushing above them. Once they recover from the shock, the girl twists around before firmly taking his hand. 

_“This way, my lord,”_ she says, crawling forward. She lets go once they get moving, and he follows the sound of her body shuffling across the dirt and the whizzing above them. They stand at the edge of the clearing, and Fu steps behind his granddaughter. 

_“In front of you is a series of pendulums, all swinging at different sizes and speeds,”_ he says, mostly for Ling’s benefit. _“Your task for today is to stand in their path and dodge them until they lose their momentum. Then, we will reset and repeat.”_

Ling hears the swishing of fabric, and Lan Fan lets out a surprised yelp.

_“Grandfather?”_

_“You have plenty of experience dodging projectiles, Lan Fan,”_ he chides. Ling hears the sound of a knot being tightened. _“Your visibility should not be the deciding factor in your success._ Your _goal for this exercise is to strengthen your reliance on your other senses, just as the young lord does. You will go first.”_

Without further warning, he pushes her into the fray. Within the first few seconds, Ling hears the sound of thumping and Lan Fan’s grunts of pain as she is struck.

 _“Master Fu,”_ Ling frets.

 _“Do not worry, young lord. She will be fine,”_ he reassures. _“If jade is not cut and polished, it cannot be made into anything.”_

The rest of that day is miserable, the two apprentices exiting the forest battered and bruised. But as each day passes, Ling realizes that his ears have become sharper, his reflexes faster, and the number of bruises he’s left with after each session decreases each time.

\---

He sits in the garden, the warm glow of the sunlight peeking over the horizon and passing over him. He can feel the earth unfurl under the first glimmers of light like a flower blooming, and his muscles loosen along with it. The thrum of the _longmai_ becomes stronger as he slips further into his meditation, coursing through his veins and clearing his mind like a rush of water. 

In his mind’s eye, he steps into the river of _qi_ and lets himself be swept away with it. The current drags him throughout the grounds, to the eastern wall dividing the backcountry from the mansion, the people of his clan a few leagues down the hill beginning to wake, the nocturnal animals returning to their dens, and the waves of the _Fenghuang_ Sea crashing against the cliff the estate sits upon. It grows and grows, and at its zenith, he is one with the dragon and one with the earth.

He releases the breath from his lungs, his face warming as a plume of vapor arcs into the air past his lips, and he draws himself back into his vessel. After a few years of practice, he’s able to sense everything within the borders of the estate, a wider berth than most of the guards, and Fu suspects his senses will only grow stronger with age.

Speaking of Fu, Ling can sense the older man’s noble and strong _qi_ to his back, hiding behind the eaves of the main house and monitoring him as the young prince finishes his morning routine. Searching farther, he finds Lan Fan by the kitchens, having completed her morning drills and no doubt ready to eat breakfast with him before they both join her grandfather for their training.

It’s a small semblance of their old way of life, eating meals together. They’re both just young enough for it to be excusable. Or maybe it isn’t, and Fu is turning a blind eye to their continued closeness out of sentiment. Regardless, Ling knows he must treasure the mornings he has left with her, because next year when she officially becomes one of his retainers, he may seldom have the chance to speak with her ever again.

He pushes the thought out of his mind for now and goes to meet her.

\---

Fu and Ling’s own grandfather, the chief of the Yao clan, argue from time to time.

It probably happens more than Ling is aware of, but he overhears them often enough to know that it is tiresome for all parties involved, and ultimately leads nowhere. At first, it is always about his safety.

 _“You are putting the prince’s already poor health at risk,”_ the chief condemns as Ling and Lan Fan practice throwing wooden daggers at each other.

 _“The young lord will always be at risk,”_ Fu responds without hesitation. _“If a man cannot rely on his own skill, how can he rely on the skill of others?”_

 _“The prince has already paid for your family’s failures,”_ the chief glowers, and the shriek he lets out as a dagger zips past his head is worth Fu’s admonishment to _“focus on your target, young lord.”_

As he’s gotten older, he’s come to realize that his chief tries to hide many things from him. He understands that the cliffside manor that houses the Yao family has left him sheltered, and his disability has certainly caused doubt in his abilities even if no one dares admit it, but the conformity of walls becomes irritating after a while, even if you cannot see them, and with nothing else to do but train, he finds himself eager to leave them. 

He frequently takes a reluctant Lan Fan to lead him through the bustling main city below. The sounds and smells of his clansmen going about their day had at first been overwhelming after years of relative quiet within the estate, but with their hands intertwined, the prince and his vassal picked their way through the crowds, both dressed down from their usual attire to conceal their identities and avoid suspicion.

The warmth of her presence beside him helps him brave through the unfamiliar territory, trusting her to guide him and revealing in her relaxation. Without her mask and her grandfather’s watchful eye, she lets herself be the teenager she really is, her clear laugh ringing through his ears and warming his cheeks. When they return to the manor, giddy and tired, Fu only asks if they were followed, as if the prince had not been aware of the man’s presence throughout the day’s events.

But over time, these trips into the city leave him feeling heavier than before he left home.

It is through these adventures, talking with merchants and playing with other children, that Ling learns the true extent of his clan’s transgressions: the skirmishes at the borders as the Yao territory expands that had left hardworking families displaced and starving. The assassination of the twenty-seventh princess Song Hua, and the convenient trade deal made with the Yao and Hua clans a few days later.

The rumors, trickling down from the merchants who travel to the capital, of the emperor’s declining health.

When they return that evening, he catches Fu and the chief at the end of another spat. Although he doesn’t catch any words, the sound of the chief’s voice leaves him feeling cold. He dismisses Lan Fan and treads to his quarters, his uncharacteristic curtness sobering her in an instant as she melts back into her rightful place within the shadows.

He’s restless that night, each rustle of his blankets and every sigh of the night breeze unable to drown out the little boy he’d heard on the streets, crying for his father to come home.

\---

A messenger arrives one day in the spring. The chief tries to handle it without Ling’s presence, citing political affairs to be _“none of your concerns at the moment, young prince,”_ but Ling insists. The messenger bows and holds something in front of Ling for a few moments before realizing his mistake. He hears the poor man’s heart leap into his throat as he unrolls the scroll to read it to the prince himself, but stifles his snickering, mindful of the chief’s steely gaze on his back.

The Emperor is dying, and rather than letting the clans continue their mindless squabbling or appoint an heir himself, he has given his children an impossible mission: find the secret of immortality and present it to him and his council, and they will become the next ruler. Many of the clans think it preposterous, electing to give up their chances at the throne or return to the war with new gusto. Ling knows which side his chief has taken, the mutterings of “lost cause” and “helpless child” reaching his sharp ears.

He summons his trustworthy retainers to formally accompany him on a walk, rather than follow him in a poor semblance of privacy. Lan Fan is tense, still uncomfortable out of the shadows when she is meant to be performing her sworn duties, while Fu stands tall, accustomed to his charge’s unorthodox ways.

 _“The chief has lost faith in me, if he had any, to begin with,”_ Ling begins.

 _“Master Yao has resolved to secure the clan’s power in other ways,”_ Fu responds carefully.

 _“Through needless bloodshed and intimidation under my name, yes.”_ He slows his pace, listening for the rustle of leaves and turns, stepping under the peach tree. He’s spent many lazy afternoons in the shade, its roots perfectly melded to his slouched form against the base. He doesn’t sit now, instead running his calloused hands down the smooth bark. _“He’s made quite a mess of things. Rather than respected, the Yao have become hated and feared. I will not stand for it, and I will not stand for this endless turmoil that poisons my country and my people. Not when it has cost me so much, and cost even more to those less fortunate.”_ He scratches lightly at the trunk, fibers collecting under his fingernails. _“But no one believes I can rule Xing. Not even my own clan. I have become a disgrace to my people, and not even by my own doing.”_

His retainers remain silent. He appreciates that. Flowery words are hardly something that ever gains his favor. He wipes his hands down his shirt and turns resolutely towards them. _“I plan to take the throne and right the wrongs of my forefathers. Will you two follow me?”_

They kneel in reverence before their prince, and for once the imbalance of power doesn’t make him feel sick. If more people were to bow to him the same way Fu and Lan Fan do, he thinks he might come to like it.

\---

Word of mouth is rarely accurate in both folktales and medicinal research, and his head can only contain so much at a time. What he needs is books, documents, _writings_ , but he has no way of making use of them on his own.

He pokes his head out of his room and whispers into the darkness. _“Lan Fan!”_

She drops in front of him with hardly a sound. _“Yes, my lord?”_

He waves her inside, shutting the door behind them and kneeling back down to the floor. He motions for her to sit next to him when she doesn’t take initiative, gathering some of what the servants have compiled for him and handing them to her.

He falls asleep to her silk-like voice as she reads to him, and tries to dream of the perfect face to match. 

It’s the best night of rest he’s had in years.

\---

The cool evening breeze makes the tall grass sway, tickling his wrists as they walk. They’re on the outskirts of _Yaojiajie_ , avoiding the roads and staying out of sight of his clansmen. He’d left a note penned by Fu for the chief, informing him of Ling’s plan to travel to the west, and the fewer chances the chief has of finding him and dragging him back to the safety of the manor, the better.

_“How much farther to the border?”_

_“The river up ahead serves as an unofficial divide between the Yao and Jin provinces, young lord,”_ Fu answers from the front, his strides hushed in the growing twilight. _“After that, we must pass through the Yuan and Chang clans. It’s a week’s journey to the meeting point with the servants of the Han clan, who will lead us across the desert.”_

As they reach the edge of their lands, the _longmai_ begins to change. It is just as strong, but it feels different, like stepping into the tub and the water is colder than expected, and it’s just enough to have his steps falter.

Lan Fan halts behind him. _“Is there a problem, my lord?”_

Fu has stopped as well, turning to look at the two of them. They stand in silence, awaiting the prince’s reply, but it seems too childish for him to say aloud. Will he give up so quickly, just because the lands beyond feel strange? Is he that weak?

 _“It is alright to have doubts, young lord,”_ Fu breaks the silence. _“The chances of achieving our goal are slim. If you wish, we will search for immortality in your stead.”_

He knows Fu is not questioning his skill; the man knows him too well, has trained the prince himself. But he will already have to work twice as hard to prove that he can rule. He will not give them another reason to doubt him.

 _“‘Pearls do not lie on the shore. If you want one, you must dive for it,’”_ Ling recites. _“If I am to prove I am worthy of the throne, I must obtain this pearl myself.”_

 _“And we will dive after you, young lord, without hesitation.”_ And with that, they continue through the fields and cross silently over the river into the rival clan, with Fu at the front, Lan Fan behind, and Ling as their lead.

\---

He’d expected an emptiness here. They were _ruins_. A civilization lost and worn down by the sands of time. There is a group of Ishvalans deeper in the ancient city, wary of the travelers’ presence, but they pay the settlers no mind. Ling doesn’t need his eyes to see that the place is barren.

Except, the stillness he feels, it’s wrong. Even in the endless dunes, the _longmai_ was alive, coursing through and underneath the sand. Where he stands, in the remains of this once great city, there is _nothing_. It’s as though a hunter has gutted their catch and left only a carcass behind.

They don’t stay long. Fu and Lan Fan tell him there are a few decrepit murals with alkahestry symbols, but nothing they haven’t already seen. He sleeps little that night, the absence of the familiar heartbeat leaving him on edge, and they leave before the sun rises.

How could immortality exist in a place so devoid of life, down to the very earth itself?

\---

Amestris is a strange place. He tries to assure himself that the off-putting _qi_ he senses all around him is just unfamiliar, not _wrong_ like it had been at Xerxes. But the longer he’s here, the harder it is to convince himself of that.

Despite that, the people are kind to him, even without pretending he is lost, hungry, _blind_. The common citizens have nothing to hide from a curious traveler, and most are happy to help him where they can.

They stay at the fringes, only entering towns to restock supplies and ask around. There wasn’t much in the east, mostly farmland with tiny villages scattered around the vast countryside. Lan Fan says the clear blue sky was in stark contrast with the rich green on the land, but it was beautiful all the same.

He’s certain he’d agree with her.

They move along to the south, leaving the rolling hills behind. They stop in the only town for miles; Rush Valley, the birthplace of automail. Ling knows of it; mechanical prosthetics meant to replace lost limbs, but the sound of grinding metal bouncing against the walls of the gorge becomes grating after a while. Amestris relies much more on its industrialization than it does the blood and sweat of its people.

Or maybe Ling is just homesick.

The people that congregate at the train station move as two forces, those entering and those exiting. If he wanted, he could view them as one mass, mingling together before dividing once more, or he could focus on one person in particular and follow them until their _qi_ blinks out of his awareness. 

It is while he’s doing this, bouncing between bodies like one would leaf through the pages of a book that he stumbles across something odd.

A faint, barely-there presence, shadowing that of another. It’s definitely a person, the stronger _qi_ , but it seems as though the two are intertwined with each other. He has some difficulty separating them, but he knows he’s not mistaken; it is two people, together as if one being, but spread across two vessels, one of whom is much weaker than any living thing should be.

They are walking his way, so he presses himself against the wall and listens.

“.... say she was working again?”

“At _Garfiel’s_ , Brother.”

“Oh yeah, the guy with the lipstick, right?”

Two distinct sets of footprints; one of them is smaller, steps slightly heavy due to an automail leg, but nonetheless steady and sure. The other, physically larger despite the weaker presence of _qi_ , creaking and rattling with every movement. It doesn’t sound like automail though, too hollow.

 _“Fu?”_ Ling prompts.

 _“A short boy with golden hair and a red coat, and a hulking figure in armor. But it’s strange.”_ He can imagine Fu’s brow crease in puzzlement. _“I sense no qi from the armor, yet it clearly spoke to the boy and moves as a living thing.”_

 _“It is there, but very faint, even for me. Strange indeed....”_ Ling mumbles. _“The shop they’re headed to, do you know where it is?”_

\---

The boys leave their violent mechanic as she gathers the supplies for repairs and wander the busy streets. Ling slinks into the alley a few dozen meters ahead of them and rubs dirt onto his jacket and trousers.

 _“What do you plan to do, my lord?”_ Lan Fan inquires from her perch atop some crates.

 _“Nothing much,”_ he answers easily, reaching up and loosening the ribbon is his hair, shaking his head to make it seem more disheveled. _“Just a little fishing.”_ Satisfied with the mental image of himself, he spreads his arms for Lan Fan to inspect him. _“Well? How do I look?”_

_“Would pathetic be too harsh, my lord?”_

He’s glad to hear her smile again. Were the circumstances not so dire, he could pretend that they are on a vacation together, catching up like old friends. They’ve talked more on this expedition to the west than they have in nearly three years. _“Not at all. That’s the plan.”_

The boys are quickly approaching, so Ling waves her off. She leaps to the rooftop of a nearby building, closer to him than Fu. He steps to the mouth of the alley, dropping his sword at his side, and lies on the ground, slowing his breathing to feign unconsciousness.

Their steps are booming and clumsy compared to the people of Xing, even without the armored greaves or prosthetic limbs. The shorter boy breathes so loud, Ling is sure he’d easily be able to subdue him without the help of the _longmai_ or his stronger senses. 

The armored boy stops with a soft gasp, walking towards his collapsed form while his brother goes on without him.

“How are we supposed to ‘kill time’ in a place filled with nothing but automail shops?”

The armored boy kneels in front of him and brushes Ling’s bangs from his face with a gloved hand. Ling had hoped physical contact with the armor would give him some answers, but his _qi_ is still faint as ever. Ling’s not even sure he can feel the warmth of the boy’s hands through his leather gloves.

“Al?”

“Brother?” The armored boy—“Al”—places a hand on the back of Ling’s neck before turning.

“What is it? Did you find another cat?” the other boy grumbles as he approaches.

“Not exactly.” Ling is then raised by his collar—much like a kitten—and revealed to the other brother. 

The other boy chokes, something he must have been drinking splashing to the ground. “Holy crap! What the hell are you doing with him?”

“I just found him collapsed here, Brother. I think he needs help!”

Ling takes this as his cue to “awaken”, groaning weakly and drawing the brothers’ attention. “Hungry....” he mumbles. He swings his hand a bit, trying to pat at the ground. “My _dao_ ... where is it?”

“Are you okay? What the hell is a ‘dow?’”

“Brother, look.” The first boy says softly. Ling lifts his head and rubs the dust from his face, slowly blinking his eyes closed again.

“Oh.”

Ling holds back a cunning smile. 

_Hook._

“Here, is this it?” The hilt of his sword is placed in his hand, and he clutches it to his chest like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” he gasps dramatically. “No money... need food....” Not his smoothest of transitions, but he need not fake his aching stomach.

_Line._

“You’re seriously asking us for food too?”

“C’mon, Brother, he needs help. Let’s at least get him to a restaurant and help him order.”

_Sinker._

\---

They do much more than read the menu to him. 

“You traveled across the desert? Why on earth would you take that route?”

“I wanted to visit the ruins of Xerxes.”

“Really? From what I’ve heard, there’s next to nothing out there.”

“Well, I hoped I could find something to help me with my alkahestry research. Sorry, I believe in this country you call it alchemy.”

That seems to get their attention. They explain the uses of alchemy in their country, how few if any doctors practice it, and how its prominent use in the military started when their current leader “Fuhrer King Bradley” came to power. 

Ling can’t help but commend himself for a successful catch; the two people who caught his attention just so happen to be capable alchemists with connections to the government. A little more coercion and they might just be able to give him the information he needs.

“If you don’t use alchemy, why bother researching it?” The older brother—Edward Elric—demands with barely restrained irritation.

“Well, you see, I’m looking for something. There’s a chance you’ve heard of it before.” He smiles, deciding to show his hand. “The Philosopher’s Stone.”

The brother’s freeze, the air around them thickening into an uneasy silence.

“I’m very eager to find it.” Ling tilts his head playfully. “Do you know anything about it?”

Edward stands rather abruptly and walks from the table. “Sorry,” he says, leading his brother away. “We can’t help you.”

Ling snaps his fingers, and Fu and Lan Fan hold the two of them at blade point. He’s not surprised that it devolves from there, and chuckles into the next sip of his drink.

\---

Riding a train is strange. The passengers are the ones who are moving but feel as though they are stationary, and the rest of the world is still but feels like it’s speeding past. It makes his head swim, and as grateful as he is to have found a promising lead, he wishes the brothers were more comfortable traveling long distances on foot.

“So Ling, you’re really a prince?” Winry asks.

“That’s right. I’m the twelfth in line to the throne.”

Edward snorts. “Yeah, _royalty._ Could’ve fooled me.”

“He did fool us, Brother.”

Edward huffs, no doubt sending a glare his brother’s way. “Yeah, but rather than just being honest with us, he pretended he was half-dead just to mooch some food and interrogate us. Talk about desperate.” He adjusts himself in his seat, the fabric of his coat sliding against the cushions. 

“If I had told you of my lineage beforehand, would it have made a difference?” Ling questions skeptically. Edward only harrumphs in response, so Ling continues. “And to be clear, I never lied. I just let you come to your own conclusions. I don’t recall ever saying I _wasn’t_ a prince. Underhanded, maybe, but it wasn’t lying.”

“Yeah, yeah, and what about your eyes? I saw you jumping around without a problem. Is that supposed to be ‘underhanded’ too?”

Alphonse and Winry gasp, reprimanding Edward for his rudeness, but stop at the sound of metal being sliced. The blade plunged through the roof of the train car rattles where it divides the brothers from their mechanic and the prince across them. The three Amestrians screech in terror, but Ling only laughs. 

“Your lackeys are _on top of the train?_ What the _hell!_ ” Edward squawks, pressed against his seat and huddled in the corner.

Ling leans forward to tap the blade with the back of his hand. It retracts just as swiftly as it had pierced through. “It’s alright. You have the right to be suspicious. But no, I’m not fooling you there. I truly am blind.”

“Are we allowed to ask how it happened? Or is that a bad idea too?” Alphonse sounds like he’s trembling. Ling will have to remind Lan Fan to be more patient if they want to find the Philosopher’s Stone.

“An accident when I was very young, as you could probably tell by the scars. I hardly remember what it’s like to see the way you do.”

“What do you mean? How can you see if you, well, can’t?” Winry asks nervously. Edward sits up straighter, ready to block any other weapons that might cut through the ceiling.

“In Xing, many are trained to read the energy that flows through the earth and every living thing, called the _longmai_. By learning to sense that energy, one can use it to do many things. Healers and alkahestrists use it to perform their craft in ways I don’t understand, but warriors such as Fu, Lan Fan, and myself use it to track people and navigate in the darkness. Using that and my other senses, I can ‘see’ similarly to how you can.”

“So the energy connects to the earth, and you use that rather than your eyes,” Winry concludes.

“It could be argued that I have better sight than you do, but I think it to be an unfair comparison.”

“I think I get it,” Alphonse says, the plates of his armor clacking together as he gestures in the air. “If I were to hold an object in front of you and ask to describe what it looks like, you couldn’t do it. But what you _can_ see is the space around you and all the living things within it, and you could pinpoint a specific person in that space, right? And by using your other senses, you can make educated guesses of what and where things are.”

“Now you’re getting it!” Ling exclaims with a clap his hands. They’re missing some nuances only those who use the _longmai_ as he does can understand, but he commends their quick comprehension.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Edward says sincerely. “It seems like alkahestry is capable of things alchemy isn’t. We’ll have to do some research on this stuff, Al.”

“Well, if you help me become emperor, I’ll give you boys complete access to all of our country’s research as a reward.” He says it jovially, but it’s clear that the brothers are put off by the mention of Ling’s true intentions. Rather than let them dwell on it, Winry speaks up again.

“So, your guards, are they just going to stay on top of the train?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xingese translations! I have these for words that realistically wouldn't be translated like they are in the manga, sub, the dub, as they're just parts of Xingese culture.
> 
> "longmai" - "Dragon's pulse"
> 
> "Fenghuang" - "phoenix." I based the Yao clan's geography on Fenghuang county and Furongzhen in China. The "Fenghuang Sea" is totally made up, but both Ling's story and yellow jacket suggest a phoenix motif, so I decided to incorporate that into Yao culture.
> 
> "qi" - "energy/life force"
> 
> "dao" - "sword." It's actually the specific style of sword that Ling wields.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned for more!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numero dos, everyone!
> 
> I guess I'm gonna do a weekly update schedule? When I was writing this, I didn't plan for it to be chaptered, but right now it's about 25k and STILL NOT DONE I HATE MYSELF!!
> 
> This fic follows the manga canon, so things like the Glutonny and Envy vs. Lan Fan and Ling are mentioned, but since nothing really changed when put into this AU's context, I decided to leave it out.
> 
> So this chapter covers the Bradley fight, and I do go into, some uh, extensive detail, of THAT scene. Nothing too bad, I don't think, but still! If that's not for you, I totally get it! If you're a little nervous about it before you read, or want the overview of some of the narrative relevance if you decide to skip it, go ahead and check the note on the bottom! The scene transitions into a quick POV change to Riza, so I hope it'll be easy to find where you can pick it back up!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

Alphonse returns from the Fifth Laboratory with a few missing pieces, but thankfully alive.

“So this was all possible through alchemy. Is it visible?”

“Yeah, the seal is inside the chest piece.” Alphonse lifts his helmet and leans forward so his interior is easier to view.

_“Lan Fan,”_ Ling requests needlessly, as she has already stood and approached Alphonse to peer inside.

_ “It is an alkahestry—no, an  _ alchemical _ sigil drawn in Edward’s blood. It is a circle, with a grid-like pattern within the circumference, the lines forming an eight-pointed star. A curving figure is drawn above the center, connecting to the top of the circle. It is the source of Alphonse’s qi and still holds the residue of Edward’s own.” _

Ling nods. That must be why Alphonse feels like two people in one body, but it still doesn’t entirely explain Edward’s abnormal  _ qi _ . Perhaps the connection goes both ways? “Fascinating! And you don’t sleep or eat? You don’t even run out of breath?”

“Yes. As long as the seal is intact.” 

“So, you really are immortal!” If Ling were a lesser man, he’d order Lan Fan to subdue Alphonse so they could bring him back to Xing at once, but he’d never do that to an ally. Not to mention that Edward would surely have his head if the young alchemist could reach that high.

Alphonse places his helmet back on forlornly. “No, I’m not.”

Just like everything else, Alphone’s continued existence comes at a price. Not only did his brother sacrifice an arm for it, but it’s not a permanent solution. When the armor eventually rejects his soul, his life will flicker out like a candle.

But the taste of saltwater on his tongue is too strong for him to give it up just yet. “If your soul were to be rejected, couldn’t you just bind it to another vessel? Because until that point, you’re impervious to pain and your chances of being killed are slim as long as the seal is protected. Sounds like a good deal to me!”

Ling has barely finished speaking when Winry jumps from her seat. “Shut up!” She snaps. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He can feel Lan Fan tense, ready to strike the girl for daring to accuse the prince, but he subtly raises his hand to stop her. If Winry has something to say, it’s hardly their place to punish her for it.

“You have no idea what he’s been through, what  they’ve _both_ been through! How could you  _ want _ something like this?” Her voice quivers, and she sniffs harshly before storming out of the room.

Left in her wake, Lan Fan quietly seethes. Torn between going to defend the prince’s honor or letting it go, she remains standing. 

Alphonse clears his throat, or at least mimics the noise. “Sorry about that, it’s just—”

“No, I should be the one apologizing, Alphonse,” he murmurs to the surprise of his vassal and the armored boy. “It was insensitive of me to disregard you and your brother’s struggles in pursuing my own goals. Even with its advantages, I doubt you’d willingly exist like this. I think I can understand that.” Ling brushes his fingers over the scarred skin around his eyes. “That is enough to deter me from this solution for now. Please, forgive my disrespect.” Fu had chastised him before for “bowing” to people beneath his status, but a true king can swallow his pride and apologize when he has hurt someone undeserving of it, right?

“No, it’s okay. You’re determined to save your clan. But yeah, I wouldn’t suggest presenting this method to your emperor,” Alphonse says after a few moments, trying to brush off Ling’s unexpected candor. “Still, Winry shouldn’t have done that. She and Brother get so easily upset about it.”

“Reminds me of someone.” Ling doesn’t turn away from Alphonse. He didn’t say it to embarrass her. In fact, “It’s comforting to know just how much they care, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Ling doesn’t know what Alphonse looks like, with or without his armored body, but he knows a smile when he hears one.

\---

The plan is simple. Maybe that’s why it goes so wrong.

They sense the large homunculus from a few nights before, the repulsive  _ qi _ penetrating through the thrill of the battle not far below them. Not long after that, they hear its thundering steps and obnoxious slobbering. They stand from their perch and leap forward to intercept the beast before it reaches the Elrics and the man they call Scar.

“I smell the Ishvalan! I finally get to eat! He’ll taste so yummy, I just know—”

Lan Fan delivers a swift kick that launches the homunculus backward, crashing into the roof of a neighboring building.

“Hello there! Sorry to disturb you.” Ling rests the back of his blade on his shoulder with practiced ease. “Is it just you here today? Not your transforming friend?”

“Don’t bother running,” Lan Fan warns, crouched a few meters nearby. “I can sense your presence, and I can follow it.”

“Follow?” the dimwitted monster parrots curiously. “Well, then I’ll just eat you too!” The homunculus snarls, fat globs of saliva dripping onto the tiles of the roof.

Lan Fan draws a short breath.  _ “On his tongue, my lord. The tattoo.” _

Ling draws his sword properly now, ready to attack when he hears steady footfalls approaching from below them. The townspeople had fled the area once the fighting started, and the gait is too calm to be a civilian.

“So, you can sense our presence, can you? That’s quite the nuisance.”

Our? The man’s  _ qi _ seems normal, so he may be harder to track while the homunculus is around, but that wouldn’t make him any less dangerous if he is with the enemy.

_ “Lan Fan?” _

_ “A military officer, with a patch over his left eye and two swords. Judging by his uniform, he might be high rank—” _ She gasps and stands abruptly, poised to strike.

The man moves quickly, too quickly to be human, and is upon his vassal before he can even react.

_ “Lan Fan! Move!” _

She screams as the blade cuts through her, metal clashing against wood as her mask shatters. She falls back, landing on the roof below, her kunai clattering at her side. He hears a blade snapping.

“Impressive,” the man hums. “You managed to parry the blow.”

“Can I eat her now?” the homunculus pipes up, his lips smacking.

“Just make it quick.”

The beast lunges with a loud cry, and Ling leaps, slicing off the top of its head. It won’t kill it, he knows, but it will slow it down. He lands next to her, and the smell of her blood makes his stomach turn. He can hear her labored breathing and her soft whimpers of pain.

_ “Lan Fan! Stay with me!” _ He scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder. He adjusts his stance, trying to compensate for her added weight. That man nearly killed her in one move, and he knows he won’t be able to fend off both enemies without help. The brothers are fighting their own battle, and Fu is gone.

They need to get out of here,  _ now.  _

“Did you think you’d be able to escape that easily?” Just as before, the man is upon him faster than he can blink, and Ling parries and jumps back just in the nick of time. Lan Fan said the man had an eyepatch over his left eye, so Ling tries his best to stay in his blind spot as he retreats.

The man calls for his ally and it knocks Ling off of his feet. He goes sailing through a window and slams into a wall. He grunts, gripping his vassal tightly.

Her  _ qi _ is strong, but fading fast.

“Perfect. We should have some privacy in here,” the man says calmly, his boots crushing the shattered glass. “I’d like to ask who you people are, and how do you know what’s inside Gluttony?”

Ling stills and listens, stretching his awareness as far as he can. The building is abandoned and leads to a mostly empty street, and the exit is a few meters to his right, judging by the draft.

“Still planning to escape? You don’t give up, do you?” The man dares to sound amused. “You might have a chance if you let go of your injured guide dog—she’s useless to you now.”

He brandishes his sword, angling Lan Fan away from their attackers. “‘ _ Guide dog! _ ’ I’d never abandon one of my subjects! Not when they need my help!” Righteous hatred flares in his gut. How dare this monster compare her to some sort of mangy mutt! “A true king fights for his people, for he is nothing without them!”

The man huffs disapprovingly. “Foolish boy. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be Fuhrer, would I?”

He hears Lan Fan pull the cord of a flash bomb and toss it over them. It hits the floor and detonates, both man and beast crying out as the light blinds them. They’ll be stunned long enough for Ling to escape before the second explosion. 

He runs, but the sound of a blade cutting through the air warns him just in time to avoid being struck. How could the man have thrown so accurately? The light from those grenades is enough to blind a hawk!

“Nice try,” the man growls. “But your little lights can do nothing to my Ultimate Eye!”

The second fuse of the grenade lights and Ling has no choice but to withstand the blast. The force launches him out of the building, taking the brunt of his and Lan Fan’s combined weight to his knees when they land on the street below. Cuts and gashes from the flying debris clog with concrete dust. Despite the sharp pain in his legs and the ringing in his ears, he forces himself to run, pushing past the frightened onlookers.

\---

It’s safe to say that Ling is on the verge of panic.

In his haste to flee, he’d avoided populated areas. It’s clear these monsters don’t care about hurting innocent people, but no people means no chance of getting help, and that’s what he needs if he wants the two of them to get away in one piece. He needs to get to the Elrics, let them know that the plan failed, that Lan Fan is hurt, that  _ their ruler _ is working with the homunculi, and could be one himself.

The regular spurts of blood from Lan Fan’s wound splash onto the ground as he runs, stray drops spattering the back of his legs and staining his jacket. He needs to stop the bleeding, lest she dies in his arms. But stopping gives their pursuers the chance to catch them, and he has no idea if his blind eyes and shaking hands would be able to properly tie a tourniquet.

_ “My arm....” _

He’d been trying to ignore her _ qi, _ afraid of what he’d find if he focused on it, but the sound of her voice fills him with a second wind.  _ “What is it?” _ Talking means awake. Awake means  _ alive. _ He needs to keep her talking, the enemy hearing them be damned.

_ “My lord, I am useless to you now.” _

He hops over a toppled trash can, grunting as he adjusts his grip on her waist.  _ “What the hell are you talking about?” _

She clutches her injury, panting.  _ “You cannot burden yourself with me! They’ll only get you too! A king is nothing without his people, but a people without their king would be lost as well. You cannot do that!” _ She sobs, trying to break free of his grasp.  _ “My lord, think of our clan! You must live for their sake!” _

She's giving him an out, and logically, he can't find a reason to refuse; on top of his limp and rapidly weakening energy, her weight is slowing him down. She can't fight, and the stench and trail of her blood is the whole reason they're still being pursued.

She has done her duty, for king and country. And it is her right as a warrior to continue doing it until she takes her last breath.

The waves crash over them, and every moment he's pulled further from the shore.

He tightens his grip and keeps running, ignoring her limp arm jostling against him.  _ “I’m not leaving you, Lan Fan!” _

She lets out another pained sob.  _ “Sometimes we must make sacrifices,” _ she twists in his grip again, freeing her uninjured arm and pressing her chin into his back,  _ “For the greater good!” _ Her voice is muffled as she speaks around the fabric of her hood.

His stomach sinks like a stone.  _ “Lan Fan? What are you doing?” _

He hears her unsheathe a blade. She takes in deep, rapid gulps of air, bracing herself.

_ “Lan Fan! Stop!” _

She stifles a cry, then comes the wet sound of flesh tearing, and a torrent of warmth rushes down his back. The stench is unbearable, almost making him gag. He stops, lowering her to the ground and gripping her shoulders.

He expects the wetness, but not the absence of her warm skin. Something falls into his lap, and it takes all of his self-control not to vomit. He feels cold, despite her hot blood gluing his jacket to his back.  _ “Lan Fan, what have you done?” _

_ “Behind you, my lord,” _ She says weakly. He whips around, sword in hand, and hears the snuffling of a dog behind a nearby dumpster. He’d been so worried for her, he hadn’t even noticed it.  _ “Edward’s trap... for rabbits.” _

He should be proud of her, keeping her wits about her on the brink of death, but all he feels is the terror of that night, the two figures fighting in the darkness,  _ young master, get back! _

He sets their trap and quickly removes his jacket and uses it to bandage her, smeared blood drying on his skin.

_ “The mission is not over, my lord,” _ she whispers in his ear as they wade through the sewers.  _ “We set out to capture a homunculus, so that is what you must do.” _

He releases his hold on her waist, letting her use the slippery bricks as support.  _ “I’ll come back for you.” _

She huffs, and it sounds too much like a laugh for his liking.  _ “I  _ will, _ Lan Fan. Wait for me.” _

With unbridled rage burning in his heart, he listens to the dragon and follows its vengeful roar to the immortal beast.

\---

Everyone at Eastern Command knows that Riza Hawkeye works best under pressure.

She had always been that way; in school, with her chores, her assessments at boot camp, but nothing had solidified that skill as the war had. Locating a secure vantage point while her comrades and enemies fell around her never broke her focus, and listening behind her while she peered through the scope became second nature.

And, of course, the Colonel putting off his paperwork to the last minute and forcing his squadron to help him finish it.

It’s thanks to all of this experience that she hardly blinks as the shirtless and disheveled Xingese prince deadlifts the fat homunculus into the back of her car.

She calls over the engine and the grunts of the struggling homunculus. “I know who you are, Ling Yao. Don’t worry, we’re taking you somewhere safe.”

The homunculus lets out a petulant whine, and the prince presses his foot to its nose, silencing it. “My friend! I need to go get her!”

“There’s no time.”

The prince growls, slamming a hand on the passenger headrest. “Make time! She could be dying now! She’s still there waiting for me!”

Riza processes this, and juxtaposes it to her orders: get the prince and the captured homunculus to the safe house, and don’t be late. There’s no telling how long the bindings will hold, or how long they have before the enemy sends someone to retrieve the homunculus. 

But she can’t abandon a wounded ally. Not when she knows someone who can help.

“We’d better make it quick. Where is she now?”

The prince goes quiet, lowering his head in concentration. The Elric brothers had mentioned that the Xingese travelers had incredible tracking abilities, bordering on superhuman, which was why their part in this plan was so crucial. His hand clenches the headrest and he grits his teeth, raising his head and pointing to her eight o’clock. “As straight of a line as you can in that direction!  _ Please!” _

She honks her horn and presses the gas. It’s only a few minutes before the prince speaks again. “Find me the closest entrance to the sewers!”

Riza pulls over and opens the door to guide him to the manhole, but he pushes her down by the shoulder and vaults over her. He kneels on the asphalt and runs his fingers over the ground, hooking his fingers in the opening and ripping away the metal disk.

“Watch him!” He calls over his shoulder before dropping into the sewers.

With its captor gone, the homunculus struggles again. She takes her pistol and presses the muzzle to its temple, clicking the safety off. It stills and lets out another high, pitiful whine.

She hears footsteps on the rungs of the metal ladder and turns to watch the prince pull himself out of the manhole, a figure draped over his back with their arm hooked around his neck. The prince stands and places his hands under the other person’s thighs, jogging unevenly toward the car.

Riza sets her gun down to help Ling get his friend in the passenger seat. Her skin is white as a sheet, her eyes half-lidded, and her dark hair is sticking to her face slick with sweat and sewer water. Her entire left side is drenched in blood, and a yellow silk jacket—the prince’s, Riza deduces—is tied as a makeshift bandage, her right hand pressed against the darkest and wettest spot. 

Riza is no stranger to the battlefield or the grisly injuries that can occur during war. With the amount of blood and her half-conscious state, there’s a reason Riza is having trouble seeing the girl’s left arm.

Ling reaches over and clamps his hand over the girl’s on her wrapped shoulder. He turns to Riza. “Wherever you’re taking us, we need to get a doctor there.”

“The Colonel knows someone, he’ll keep it a secret while she recovers.” She shifts gears and turns the car around, speeding off to the safe house.

The prince and his friend speak to each other in Xingese—or, the prince tries to keep her awake while she gives non-committal responses—as they drive. From the disturbed and cruel corner in her mind, Riza wonders if the scene before her is any similar to the night the Elrics ... despite being a few years older than the brothers were, the prince and the girl are still  _ children _ .

She wonders when she stopped being bothered by that fact.

At one point, the homunculus takes a few large sniffs and tries to move closer to the injured girl. Without turning from his friend, the prince takes his sword and plunges it into the large creature’s head.

She’ll have to get her seats cleaned later.

\---

The Elrics meet them at a safe house far removed from the city, with another military friend of theirs and a doctor. The doctor scolds him for exposing her to potentially harmful bacteria before he whisks Lan Fan into another room to operate, with the help of Lieutenant Hawkeye.

For now, Ling can do nothing but pray she survives as he tries to block out her screams. Left alone, he collapses onto a wooden bench, letting himself feel the exhaustion, the pain, the insurmountable guilt.

He was too arrogant. He’d thought they could take on the homunculi with ease. They seemed weaker in their previous encounter, unable to fight back against his and Lan Fan’s years of training. He was a fool to treat this as a game. This was the fight for the honor and protection of his clan, of his country! How could he be so careless? And to fall apart the moment they injured his retainer? If it hadn’t been for Lan Fan, they’d both be dead!

And Fu! Gods above, what will Fu say? His granddaughter lost her arm, and Ling failed to protect her. He will be furious! Or will he be proud? Lan Fan did everything and more to ensure Ling’s safety, and she succeeded.

Ling doesn’t want to hear Fu’s voice like that again, masking his grief better than young Lan Fan could,  _ “It is our sworn duty to protect you with our lives, young lord, and she has done so with great honor.” _

With his naivete, his negligence, and his weakness, he should be dead twice over.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t hear the Elrics approach until they are only steps away. Edward’s steps are slow and measured as if he’s trying to stay balanced, and Ling hears water sloshing around. He sets something down at Ling’s feet—a bucket, most likely—and the boys stand in front of him awkwardly before the older brother speaks up.

“I’ve got some bandages for you, and something to clean yourself off with. Dr. Knox said it’s okay for you to take this old shirt and coat of his if you get cold.” Edward places the aforementioned items onto the bench next to him. “Do you... need help? You’re kind of covered in blood.”

The stress nearly boils over then, and Ling clenches his jaw to avoid snapping at his friend. Edward just wants to help, and dwelling on what he should have done to protect Lan Fan and his failings as a leader won’t clean or dress his wounds.

“Maybe a little, but don’t worry, most of it’s not mine,” Ling sighs, holding out a hand.

Edward places a towel in Ling’s hand and moves the pail of water closer, letting the prince wet it and start wringing it out. Edward takes a deep breath, no doubt about to wax poetic on how all of this is his fault, and Ling is just too exhausted to argue with him about it at the moment.

“Ling, I—”

“Don’t apologize,” he says firmly, wiping at the deep cut on his cheekbone, relishing in the sharp, grounding sting. “I’m the one who suggested it. It was in both of our best interests, so it made sense to work together. When I came here in search of immortality, I was prepared to make sacrifices.” He sets down the towel and shakes his head minutely. “But I was never ready for  _ this _ .” He takes a steadying breath, the smell of her dried blood on his hands still pungent. “Lan Fan, though, she was. She’s stronger than I’ll ever be.”

From the other room, she lets out another agonized cry, and he can hear the brothers flinch. He swallows back his nausea and cleans himself up.

Sometime later in the evening, Dr. Knox and the Lieutenant step out. “She’s stable,” he grumbles. “The amputation itself wasn’t the issue. It was mostly a clean incision of the ligaments. Whatever injury she sustained beforehand was the real danger; it looks like her shoulder was dislocated, and her clavicle and acromion shattered on impact at the AC joint, and part of the cartilage on the glenoid was sliced off, leaving the bone exposed. The only damage she did to herself was exposing it to contaminated air, risking an infection. And cutting it off outside of an operating theater, obviously.” Ling feels the focus of the room shift from the doctor to him. “That half-assed tourniquet somehow prevented her from losing more blood than she could afford. Honestly, son, it’s a goddamn miracle she made it.” 

Ling ignores the icy horror that shoots up his spine and stands, using his sword to help support his leg. “May I see her?”

The doctor huffs. “Yeah, but make it quick.”

Ling doesn’t know if Knox is finished speaking to him, but he doesn’t care, pushing past everyone and rushing into the room. His sword jostles a table, medical instruments clattering to the ground, but he keeps moving and kneels at the side of the bed, running his hand over her form under the blankets to meet her at the headboard.

_ “Lan Fan.” _

He hears her exhausted breathing and the soft rustling of sheets.  _ “My lord…” _ Her voice is quiet and hoarse but filled with the limitless strength he knows her for.

He can’t help the breathy sob that escapes him, his quivering lips forming a smile. He blinks harshly, pressing his head to the mattress. He won’t let her see his weakness, not after she’s given up so much for him.

Her hand brushes his ear, and he lifts his head so she can see his face. She cups his cheek and wipes a few tears away with her thumb.  _ “Are you alright?” _

_ “I should be asking you that.” _

She lets out a short exhale, her hand slipping down his face to curl under his chin.  _ “Did we succeed? _ ”

_ “Yes, we did, and it’s all thanks to you.” _ He reaches up and takes her hand and wrist, stroking them with his thumbs.  _ “Lan Fan, as your leader, I am  _ so _ proud of you. You saved my life, and you have saved our clan.” _ He presses his lips together to stop himself from spitting in disgust. He hates that, given his standing, he must approve of her actions.  _ “Now, as your friend, I have another thing to tell you.” _

He leans closer and tightens his grip, glaring with his wet and unseeing eyes.  _ “ _ Never _ scare me like that again. Promise me, Lan Fan.” _

She squeezes his hand in return.  _ “I promise you, Ling.” _ After a few moments, she turns her head and lets out another tired sigh.  _ “Is Edward here? I need to ask him about automail.” _

_ “Yes.” _ Ling can hear them talking to their military friends just outside the room.  _ “Would you like me to stay?” _

She is silent for a moment, thinking.  _ “Our job is not over, my lord. The homunculus, you must unlock its secrets, and tell the Amestrians what we have learned about their ruler.” _

He rests their foreheads together, the closest they can get to each other without reaching the point of no return, and reluctantly leaves her side. “Sorry for the mess,” he tells Dr. Knox, reaching out a hand. The man huffs and takes it, but Ling places his other over the older man’s hand before he can shake it. “And thank you for saving her life.  _ Thank you very much. _ ” He bows his head, and he can practically feel the nobles back home shudder at a prince showing such respect to some “peasant doctor”. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not like I had anything better to do,” he gripes. “If anyone else wants to talk to her, make it quick. My patient needs rest.”

“Yes, Lan Fan would like to speak to you, Edward.”

The brothers walk past him tentatively, leaving him alone while the two military officers step out to discuss their next course of action. He maneuvers his way back to the bench and presses his hand to his cheek, trying to commit the warmth of her calloused palm and nimble fingers to memory.

He’s unsure how long he sits in the daydream, head in one hand and twirling with the tassel of his  _ dao _ in the other, but he is pulled from it when he feels a soft heat of a lantern fall across his face. A warm  _ qi  _ and confident footsteps approach and stop in front of him.

“She’s strong,” comments a deep voice.

“Her family has protected my clan for generations. And in Xing, there is nothing more important than duty,” he says diplomatically. 

“Still, her dedication is admirable. You must be proud.”

“‘Duty is heavy as a mountain, while death is lighter than a feather,’ as her grandfather would say.” He urges the tension from his body by subtly tugging at the sleeves of the borrowed coat. “I’m glad she has chosen the former.” 

The brothers exit the other room, and the man shifts his weight, facing Ling fully. “Colonel Roy Mustang, State Alchemist.”

So, this is the man he’s been helping so much the past few days? Ling finds it a bit odd they haven’t met until now. He stands, ignoring the pain in his leg and Edward's quiet “He’s  _ blind, _ Colonel Bastard”, and does a cordial _ zuoyi _ . “Ling Yao, twelfth son of Xing.” He extends his hand, sure the Colonel has already done so himself. “Thank you for finding us a doctor.”

Mustang takes it firmly. “It was no problem. Thank you for helping with the Ross incident. And bringing  _ that _ thing in.“

The group steps into the threshold, the aforementioned creature stirring in their presence and keening quietly.

“So, what do we have here?” Knox asks as he joins them, gasping quietly when he sees the restrained monster.

“That’s Gluttony, a homunculus,” Ling supplies, leaning against the doorframe.

“He and his friends appear to have connections with some of the military senior staff,” Mustang continues.

“Just  _ some _ ? It goes far deeper than that,” Ling hisses. “Gluttony wasn’t the one who hurt Lan Fan.” He pushes himself from the doorframe and squares his shoulders. “It was your Fuhrer, King Bradley.”

The Amestrians gasp. 

“He...  _ what _ ?” Edward splutters.

“Are you positive?” Mustang asks, seeming to have recovered the most.

“Yes. Lan Fan told me what he looked like before he attacked her. High rank, swords, an eyepatch. Not to mention,  _ he told me himself.” _

“Are you sure it wasn’t that homunculus that could change its appearance? The one from before?” Alphonse asks hopefully.

Ling shakes his head, pulling the old shirt and coat around himself tightly. “No, we wouldn’t have been fooled by that. He felt like a normal man; he didn’t have the same horrible presence as the others. But he climbed to the top of a building and nearly severed Lan Fan in half with one move, and he wasn’t affected by the blinding light of one of our flares thanks to something he called an ‘Ultimate Eye’.”

“But, how could he have gotten Lan Fan?” Edward questioned desperately. “I’ve fought her, and she’s  _ fast.  _ Faster than anyone in Amestris!” Edward paces for a few moments before whirling back around to Ling. “What are you saying, Ling?”

“I’m saying that there’s a real possibility that your ruler is a homunculus!”

Ling can imagine Edward pulling at his hair, continuing to pace. Alphonse speaks up again, almost to himself. "He did seem to take care of Greed pretty easily...." But he shakes his head, still trying to cling to the hope that Ling is wrong, ignoring that Lan Fan is in the other room with a missing arm. “But if the Fuhrer is a homunculus, how can he have a son? That book said that homunculi have no reproductive capabilities!”

“No,” Knox mutters gravely. “The Fuhrer’s son Selim is adopted. There’s no direct blood relation.”

A loud bang sounds down the hall, along with Edward’s harsh breathing. It seems he’s punched the wall in his fury. “That bastard was alone with Winry! If he nearly killed Lan Fan, what could he have done to  _ her _ ?”

When the silence after Edward’s outburst becomes suffocating, Mustang lets out a scoff. “Monster or human, these new developments only make it easier to remove him from the seat of power.” He turns, and the heat emanating from him—the external one, not his  _ qi _ —moves with a squeak. The Amestrians follow the glow of the lantern, directing their attention back to Gluttony. “First, we get information out of this one, and I’ll take his stone. It could prove useful in treating Havoc.”

The barely contained wrath bubbling under Ling’s skin finally breaks free, and he grabs Mustang by the collar. “Lan Fan lost her arm to get this thing! He’s our captive, we’re taking him back to Xing!”

“Hey!” Edward butts in, grabbing Ling by his shoulder and pushing between him and the Colonel. “This could be a shot at getting our bodies back! We can’t just let you leave with him!”

“Fullmetal is right, Your Majesty," Mustang continues, obviously trying to keep his own irritation in check. "You’re an illegal alien, and a government conspiracy has just been blown wide open. How do you expect to get to the border and all the way across the desert with an injured girl and a homunculus without help, especially at a time like this?”

“You aren’t the only one with political motives here!” Ling barks. “My home has been ravaged by war and suffering my entire life! I’m a living testament to that!” His  _ dao _ clatters to the floor as he wildly waves his hand to his face “Lan Fan nearly gave her  _ life  _ so we could capture that monster! What did you sacrifice to claim him? Afternoon tea with a superior?” 

He feels Alphonse’s gloves settle over his brother’s hand already clamped to his shoulder, holding him back. “Ling,  _ please _ , calm down,” the younger boy implores as he pulls the prince away. “We can find a solution to please everyone, but we  _ need  _ to be level headed about this.”

“I’m too old for this shit,” Knox groans. “Good luck Mustang. I’m going home.”

As Knox turns to leave, the _ longmai  _ contorts in pain. A wave of dizziness crashes over him, and his weakened leg buckles under him. Alphonse’s hand on his shoulder follows him, the hulking armored body crowding him to keep itself balanced. Through the sudden haze, he can hear Gluttony’s snarling and the metal cable bending and snapping. With a squelch of a slobbering mouth widening, the beast releases a blood-chilling scream.

Ling feels the surge of power, and acts purely on instinct, snatching his sword from the floor and jumping out of the way. The wave that blasts past him still has enough force to slam him against the wall, and he hears the shouts of his allies under the crashing as the wooden walls of the house crumble apart. He can’t help but feel that the energy, or strange lack of it, is familiar….

But he ignores it for now. A quick scope for his allies has them all accounted for, so he stands and runs to Lan Fan.

_ “My lord? What’s happening?” _ she calls weakly as he dashes into the room, helping her sit up.

_ “Come on, we’re getting out of here.” _ Her skin is clammy and hot to the touch, and her unsure movements worry him more than the collapsing house and rampaging monster.  _ “The homunculus had another monster hidden inside of him, and he’s swallowing everything in sight.” _

There’s a blast of intense heat that arcs outward from Mustang, most likely the Flame Alchemy he’s renowned for, and the bellows of the monster grow louder as a chase begins.

As he’s leading her to the car, another disturbing presence gives him and his vassal pause. They don’t have long to dwell on it, as Knox shouts for them to get in the car and the Amestrians return, Gluttony still thundering through the forest.

When they regroup, they take the wounded Colonel and Lan Fan to safety, leaving Ling and the Elrics to fend off the beast. He leans to the car window and speaks to the Lieutenant. “Look after her, please.”

With her hum of affirmation, he readies himself to leave for the battlefield again, but in a moment of weakness, he allows himself one thing before he faces death once more. He quickly turns back and reaches through the window, searching for her. With the gentle guidance from Hawkeye, he touches her sweaty forehead. He brushes her bangs aside as he goes to cup her cheek, dismissing the awkward angle.

_ “Stay alive, Lan Fan. I love you.” _

No sooner than the words have left his mouth does he run after the brothers, ignoring her delirious cries like the coward he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lan Fan: exists  
> Ling: *heart eyes*
> 
> I'm no medical expert, so take Knox's lines with a mountain of salt.
> 
> "zouyi" - a formal greeting in ancient China, making a bow with hands folded in front. In both the manga and the show, Ling does something closer to namaste, but I think this would be more culturally accurate (thanks to by_nina for the suggestion!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I'm going to have a consistent posting schedule! It shouldn't be too hard, most of the fic is already written! How hard could that be!  
> Also me: *is a day late posting*  
> Big Smoke: "ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS COPY AND PAST THE DAMN TEXT ALLI!"
> 
> Stomach arc babey!! Time for some Ed and Ling bonding!

This homunculus, Envy, is too cocky for its own good. Rather than working efficiently to get the job done like Bradley, or having tunnel vision on a singular goal like Gluttony, it gloats when it thinks it has Ling trapped with the snake it’s conjured and coiled around his neck.

Arrogance got Ling in this mess. He won’t let it be his downfall again.

He drops his blade and kicks up the soft soil. The homunculus cries out as the dirt hits its eyes, and the snake’s grip slackens. He reaches forward, ready to wrestle his way out, but the weight of the creature’s other arm is familiar. Taking a leap of faith, he brings the two arms together and hears the telltale noise of slicing flesh.

So not only can the homunculus change its appearance to that of animals and other humans, but it can select certain body parts and morph into inanimate objects like swords? A true waste of potential on someone so stupid.

Envy takes a few stumbling steps backward and Ling prepares to strike again, but the thundering sound as the homunculus falls gives him pause. It didn’t seem much bigger than himself, but the way the earth shudders and caves under its weight isn’t natural. Not that anything about these creatures is.

“That was cheap,” it growls. “Blinding me, that’s not playing fair.”

“Not fair? I disagree. I was just evening the odds,” he gives a vague gesture to his face and the long healed scars over his eyes. “And besides, people have been trying to kill me since I was a child. You can’t blame me for learning to fight dirty.” Ling stalks closer, determined to keep his gait steady despite the sharp ache he feels with each step. “Had enough? Are you ready to answer my questions now?”

Alphonse crashes through the barrier that Ed raised, distracting him long enough for Envy to take a swipe at him. Ling uses their momentum to send the devil flying, slicing off its leg for good measure. As it crashes to the ground, Ling steps over it and plunges his sword into its chest.

The scream it releases makes him freeze in horror.

Ling knows it’s not her. It’s impossible. She’s miles away by now, safe from harm. But this creature, it's stolen her voice and cries out in pain. His hands tremble in their grip on the sword’s hilt, his mind and body warring in their reactions, forcing him into an involuntary stillness.

That’s all it takes.

He hears Envy call for Gluttony, Ed’s shout as the alchemist tackles him, the powerful blast that hits them dead on, and the sudden feeling of his entire being breaking apart before turning into nothing.

\---

And then, all at once:

Beyond the wall he’s leaning against, the hot blood soaking into his skin and clothes and the stench of it permeating the stuffy air, he can feel it. The pain, the fear, the pure anguish around him. The  _ longmai _ is gone, but it’s also not, twisting and writhing in agony around and  _ inside of him _ . He feels gutted and ready to burst, and that’s not even accounting for the  _ sound _ . He can’t hear anything over his shuddering breaths, but he can hear the screams, the crying, the suffering. He’s going to drown in it, all of it, surrounded by everything and completely alone.

“Ling! Hey, are you okay?”

Something touches him and he strikes without thinking—a punch to the solar plexus, enough to stun his opponent long enough to escape—and the other person splashes a few feet away.

“Hey! What the hell?” they cough out. “It’s me, idiot prince!”

“Ed?” he gasps, uncurling himself from the hard surface. Ling tries to find him, but the moment he stretches his senses outward, he is bombarded with the everything and the nothing once more. He lets out a cry of pain and clutches his head, willing it to go away, pleading for something to appear from the void.

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s wrong? You’re not gonna hit me again, are you? I tried to push you _ out  _ of the way, I swear.”

“N-no, I—Ed,  _ please, _ ” he reaches out his hand this time, fingers grasping thin air, but he swears he can feel something wisp against his empty palms.

Cold metal fingers wrap around his hand, and suddenly, Edward’s  _ qi _ is bright and loud, brighter than the all-consuming dark and louder than the surrounding screams. “Hey, hey. I’m right here. What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

Ling tries to breathe deeply, but all he gets is the tangy smell of blood clogging his airways. He spits out the bile that rushes to his tongue and struggles to steady himself. “Y-yes, yes, it’s just... I’m okay. What happened? Where are we?”

Ed places his other hand on Ling’s shoulder again, settling it there when the prince doesn’t fight back. “Last thing I remember, Gluttony swallowed us. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re in his stomach....” he trails off, his hair swishing as he whips his head around. “Right there, the walls from the safe house. And over there, the Lieutenant’s car. The fire from the Colonel, and…” he gasps and stands abruptly, his hand leaving Ling’s shoulder.

Panic makes him seize up and lunge forward. “Edward!” He catches the alchemist by the wrist. “This place, I... I can’t _see._ Please.”

After a few beats of silence, Ed answers him. “Okay.” He steps back and helps Ling stand, guiding him forward with a hand placed on his tricep. They walk a short distance, and Ed says, “Uh, there’s a step. It’s kinda curved.” He takes Ling’s wrist and pulls it up, trying to demonstrate the change in verticality. 

He steps onto the hardened ground, some softer topsoil crumbling under his foot. He estimates the angle and lays his knee across it, following Edward’s lead by sound. He hears Ed lift something up and turn it in his hands. It’s hollow, hard, and metallic. He reaches out to touch the object himself and his fingers brush against creased leather.

“Is this... Al’s hand?”

“Yeah, but it’s  _ just _ his hand. I don’t see him, or  _ pieces _ of him, thank God.” The alchemist lets out a relieved breath. “He must not have been swallowed with us. He’s safe.” Ed gently takes the gauntlet from him. 

Ling hears fabric tearing and tying, and the thump of the gauntlet against Edward’s back. Sickeningly, it reminds him of Lan Fan, the wild flapping of her limp hand against his thighs as he ran, her blood running down his back.

He shivers again, making Ed pause. “You said you can’t see, it has to do with this place, right?”

“Yes, it’s my senses, and the _ longmai _ is….” He trails off uncomfortably.

“Will you be okay long enough to find a way out of here?”

Ling takes stock of himself; battered, exhausted, hungry, and on the verge of sensory overload. “I'll manage.” He sits up and tentatively extends his hand. He’s found his pride now that he’s regained clarity. “Would it be too much from a poor, blind man to ask for help, handsome stranger?”

Ed lets out a surprised guffaw. “Handsome, huh? Can’t say no to that.” Ed hauls him up, a guiding hand placed on Ling’s arm once more.

They get a few yards before Ed remembers that Ling has no idea what he looks like, and without the threat of an honor defending strike, he smacks the prince upside the head.

\---

The levity is short-lived.

After a failed attempt to create an exit, they settled on walking in a straight line hoping to find one. Ed was kind enough to fashion a walking stick for him, but it seems they both underestimated the distance he’d need to use it for.

He’d hoped he could keep it together, could push against the everything and the nothing long enough to get out, but the longer they stay, the harder it gets. A few times, he asks Ed to repeat himself, only to find that the alchemist hasn’t said anything. His shaking steps and persistent confusion are worrying Ed, but Ling can’t think about that right now. In all honesty, he’s having a hard time thinking of anything, the whispers around and inside his head enticing his aching stomach to _ eat, so hungry, we are so hungry, let us eat. _

It’s too much.

His knees buckle, and the blood splashes up to his face, making his stomach turn further. 

Ed startles, kneeling next to him. “Ling! What’s going on?”

“I—” He opens his mouth, and the hot, pungent air fills his lungs, and he chokes. He shivers, and he pitches forward, nearly following the walking stick into the ocean of blood, but Ed grabs him before he makes contact. Or did he? His voice sounds muffled, like he’s speaking underwater, and his movements seem sluggish despite the frantic manner in which he runs his hand down Ling’s back.

“It’s so _loud,_ ” he pants, trying to breathe in clean air, but he still tastes iron on his tongue. “It’s everywhere, but it’s _not._ How can you stand it?” 

“Ling, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please, just breathe,” Ed says anxiously, taking exaggerated breaths. Ling can feel Ed hook their arms together as he guides them onto something solid, helping him sit and collect himself.

After a few minutes, when he’s calmed down, Ed stills his hand between Ling’s shoulder blades. “Okay. You want to tell me what that was about?”

Ling remains silent for a long moment, shame starting to well up in his cheeks. “I’m hungry,” he deflects. It’s weak, but it’s better than the distressing truth.

Ed clearly doesn’t believe him, but takes the bait. “Yeah, I bet,” he mumbles, shifting around. He moves his foot closer to him and takes off his boot with a shake.

“Leather goods are edible.”

\---

Ling sets the bowl down and scoots closer to the measly fire. “If we get out of here, the first thing I’ll do is have you immortalized as ‘The Man Who Fed Emperor Yao Ling a Shoe.’”

Ed snorts and stirs his bowl absentmindedly. “Yeah, and when we get out of here, the first thing I’ll do is make sure they write how grateful you were for it, fatass.”

“I am. Thank you, Edward.”

“Yeah, yeah. All for the sake of staying alive,” Ed huffs, needlessly poking at the fire. “And besides, if Lan Fan and Fu found out I left you here to die?” He lets out a strange noise, probably accompanied by a shiver of fear. “Not to mention Al, Winry, Granny, Teacher... hell, even  _ Mustang _ would kill me if I died here.”

Ling is quiet for a moment, before steeling himself for an offended alchemist. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he starts cautiously. “How long is the recovery? For automail?”

Ed contemplates this before sighing in resignation. “It’s different for everyone, Ling. And I’m hardly an ordinary case. When I lost my limbs, there wasn’t any damage done to the nerves or tissues. Apparently, the only indicator that I wasn’t born without them was the bleeding stumps. I was able to cut the estimated recovery time in half, but Granny and Winry suspect it had something to do with my still growing body being able to adjust to the change easier than an average adult. But Lan Fan, almost an adult and with such a traumatic injury… Ling, she’s down for the count. It’ll be at least a year just to learn how to use it properly, let alone fight with it.”

Ling bites his lip and tries to relax as best he can, but it hardly stops the cold dread from shooting up his spine and compressing his chest.

“All of this my fault,” he whispers in horror.

“Oh, don’t start that. It would’ve been a dick move to not to try and save you,” Edward gripes.

“No, not just that. I mean, Lan Fan, it’s my fault she lost her arm—”

“No, Bradley attacked her—”

“I never wanted her to protect me!” he snaps, and as soon as the words have left his lips, he clamps his mouth shut. “Sorry,” he mutters after a few tense moments. “It’s just… it’s been a stressful day.”

“I know,” Ed sympathizes. “But, I thought you said her family has served yours for a long time, right? It’s her job, isn't it?"

Edward is no fool. He must know that he’s treading on thin ice, but after asking him such a personal question, and how much they’ve been through in just the past few days, Ling feels that he owes Edward  _ something _ .

“I told you I lost my sight in an accident when I was very young,” he begins, hearing Edward set his boot stew down to give Ling his undivided attention. “And that wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the total truth; it was actually an assassination attempt.”

Edward gasps quietly. “But, you were still just a child, right? What made people think you were such a threat?”

“I was part of the line of succession. That’s all the reason needed in Xing,” he responds bitterly. “I wasn’t born the twelfth prince, actually. Two other heirs were targeted at the same time, but they weren’t so lucky.”

He lets Edward process that dark truth before continuing. “The assassin snuck into my room with some kind of poison or chemical. The plan was probably to administer it in my sleep so it would seem that I had died of an illness, therefore avoiding a war between my clan and whoever had sent them. But before they could, one of my retainers came in; Mingzhu.” Speaking her name aloud brings forth a torrent of emotions, but he presses onward. “The substance splashed across my face during the melee, but I’m lucky to have survived. She saved my life at the cost of her own.”

He knows Edward has read between the lines, his voice somber. “And Mingzhu, she was…”

“Lan Fan’s mother, yes. And Fu’s daughter.” 

Ed doesn’t prompt Ling to continue, but he does anyway. “The healers did everything they could, but it was too late to fix my eyes. Fu was more than capable of protecting me on his own, but the rest of my clan feared for my safety now that I only had one person guarding me at all times. The only worthy candidate was Lan Fan, regardless of her age. She had already begun training before the incident, but the dire circumstances pushed her even harder. She officially became my retainer when she was twelve.”

“How old were you when...?”

“Five, six? She’s only a little older than the two of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Ed whispers. “I know what it must have been like for her, to grow up too fast, and to feel like you have to protect someone because no one else can, because it’s your  _ job. _ ” Ling hears Ed run his fingers along the gauntlet forlornly. “Al was only about four when Mom died, and even though we had Granny to take care of us, I still felt that I was the one and only person who could take care of him until we brought her back.” His breath catches, and Ling wants to tell him to stop, that Ed doesn’t need to continue, but his tongue has dried up from more than just thirst. “It’s fucked up, but I think a part of me only wanted to bring her back just to hear her say how proud she was that I was able to take care of him all by myself, that I was the best big brother anyone could ask for.” He scoffs quietly. “I was so stupid.”

The fire crackles weakly, and despite its warmth, Ling struggles to suppress another shiver. “But you love him. You’d do anything for him.”

“Of course,” Ed replies without hesitation. “And sure, a part of it is an obligation; why wouldn’t I? We’re brothers. But if there’s a reason to do anything, it’s out of love.”

He smiles softly, dragging his spoon lightly over the stone underneath him. “Lan Fan was prepared to die out of loyalty to our clan, as is her solemn vow, passed down through her family, to protect me at all costs. I trust her with my life, but I worry that she doesn’t truly trust me with hers.” He clenches his fist, fingernails digging into his palms. “And why would I? It’s not a prince’s place to worry about his guard. She should only be worth her life and skill to fight for me. By all accounts in my country, I’m more important than she could ever hope to be. And I hate that. I hate how so many rulers, my own forefathers too, are willing to throw away the lives of their citizens without a second thought, and that those people are willing to give their lives to a ruler they don’t know for delusions of their own country’s grandeur.” He makes a quick swipe of his spoon across the stone, the sharp sound piercing through the caverns of the homunculus. “But Lan Fan and Fu, they always believed in me. Believed in my vision of my country’s future. It’s never been about the honor of the Yao to them. They want to serve  _ me _ , to protect  _ me _ , not the Yao heir.” 

Something warm curls in his belly, and his mouth moves before he can think about what he’s saying. “Sometimes I wonder if I was never a prince, Lan Fan might have one day been my wife.”

The weight of the confession hangs heavily over them for what feels like an eternity before Ling speaks again. “But it doesn't matter. She is my guard and I am her charge. Someone of my birth cannot saddle themselves to just one person. My duty is to my people, just as hers is to my safety. And in Xing, there is nothing more important than duty. From the peasant farmer to the Emperor himself. It could never be, not if I wish for the peace and prosperity of my country.”

“But if you want to change things for the better, shouldn’t it start with the Emperor? With you?”

“I plan to do away with the concubines, yes, but I would still need an heir. Choosing someone not only of my own clan, but of such low birth, would be too outrageous. My suitress would need to be from one of the clans, to promote unity and good relations. It would still offend people, but it's the best I’d be able to do.”

“You talk about it like it’s a business transaction,” Ed says with mild disgust.

“There’s very little difference,” Ling concurs. “Any changes I make will be slow acting. I need to pick my battles wisely. If the council is displeased with too many of my actions, it wouldn’t be hard for them to arrange another ‘unfortunate accident’ to befall the blind emperor and go back to the old ways.”

“Eh, screw them,” Ed crows. “You love her, right? I’m sure you’ll charm the pants off those stuffy old dudes and reform the country within a year.”

Such informality when talking about some of the most powerful people in his country startles a laugh out of Ling. “You really think so?”

“I’m holding you to it. Consider it payment for the room service bill.” He pushes his stew away with his foot, voice straining as he stretches. “And if you’re gonna become Emperor, I guess we’d better double-time it out of here.”

Ling snorts. “You’re certainly optimistic.”

Ed crawls closer to bump the prince’s shoulder with his flesh hand. “We’ve both got people waiting for us, and I know we’re both too stubborn to just roll over and die.”

For the first time in he’s not sure how long, Ling genuinely smiles. He reaches out to bump Ed’s shoulder in return.

“Yeah.”

He feels a surge of energy, so sudden and powerful amidst the nothingness that he chokes, clutching his stomach as if he'd been struck.

“Ling! What’s going on?” Ed places a steadying hand on his shoulder and follows him up when Ling takes a defensive stance.

“There’s something out there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellas, is it gay to guide your blind friend through an ocean of blood and reassure him that his mission to save his country won't be in vain?
> 
> Fun fact, back when this was like, 5k words, I was seriously considering edling over lingfan. In the end, though, my love for bodyguard/charge won out. I'm also trying to keep this as close to canon as possible, and even though it's the center of the fic and I've had Ling profess his love for Lan Fan in two chapters now, I don't actually consider this much of a romance.
> 
> Yet.
> 
> Oh! The artist I partnered with for this Big Bang, @avarice-arts, made an awesome piece for the boot stew scene! Go and check that out (and follow them plz they're so talented!)
> 
> https://avarice-arts.tumblr.com/post/627369197490618368/my-art-pieces-for-the-fmabigbangs-draw-in


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Gosh I'm so proud of myself for having a regular posting schedule!
> 
> School, sleep, and all of my other WIPS: Oh you haven't heard?
> 
> Anyway, here it is!! A bit longer than usual, but I'm sure you guys won't mind!
> 
> So a little itty bitty spoiler, but Greed is reintroduced in this chapter, and the fusion scene (is that what we call it?) is, uh, pretty graphic. Again, if that's not your cup of tea and you're worried about it, you can find me on tumblr and I'd be happy to tell you the important points!
> 
> Also, a little bit of ableist/harsh language from some of the main characters that may make readers uncomfortable.

Edward punches Envy, and it all goes to shit.

He dashes forward and snatches the back of Ed’s shirt, pulling him away from the rapidly expanding pressure of Envy before them. The whispers he heard of  _ let us eat _ began to mingle with the louder cries of  _ help us please we need help we want to die please help. _

When the growth finally ceases, the creature lets out a tremendous roar and slams itself into the ocean of blood, casting great waves to throw the two boys off their balance. Ling finds purchase on a stone pillar.

“What the  _ fuck! _ ” Ed cries out with mounting horror. “How is  _ that _ thing a homunculus?”

“They’re supposed to be artificial humans, right?” Ling doesn’t know what the creature before them looks like, but it doesn’t take much to imagine what kind of monstrous thing it is judging by its size.

Envy bellows out a hideous laugh, and Ling senses a mass of energy shoot straight to him. He dodges, but it swings around just as quickly. His entire body is grabbed by a freakishly large hand, and he’s slammed against something. He feels the multiple cracks in his rib cage, and his right shoulder feels as though it’s grinding against something, but he has no choice but to pull himself up and stumble to where it has thrown Edward.

“Ed!” he calls, jumping away from another blow and sliding next to the crouching alchemist. “Can you make any weapons?”

“You got it,” Ed boasts, clapping his hands together. “With all of this blood, there’s plenty of iron to work with!” A moment later, Ed tosses something to him. “Catch!”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around the hilt of a blade. He swings it lightly to get a feel for its balance. It’ll have to do. “Wow, it looks great.”

“You think so?”

“No. Your taste is so tacky.”

“How can you judge what you can’t even see!” Ed retorts.

“Because it’s just that bad, Ed.”

The alchemist seethes but lets it go. “You think we can take him?”

“Honestly? Not a chance. He’s massive and we’re both running on little sleep and one half-cooked boot. I’m on my literal last leg, and I’m pretty sure he just broke two of my ribs.” He punctuates this with a tentative brush to his side and a slight shake of his left leg.

“Yeah, I’m not doing so hot myself. But what about you? Can you handle yourself here?”

Ling grimaces and raises the gaudy blade. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

Ed charges with a furious battle cry.

\---

Ling doesn’t allow himself to panic until he feels Ed’s  _ qi  _ flicker dangerously, before being smothered by Envy’s. 

And before he can do anything to stop it, Edward is gone.

Ling cries out, falling to his knees and hacking up more blood. Ed is gone. Ed is _ gone. Ed is gone he left you couldn’t protect him worthless should have eaten him when we had the chance we want to die— _

Envy lets out a surprised noise, and he hears Ed’s voice, shouting about a way to escape. He’s unceremoniously dropped in front of Ling.

“Ed! Are you okay!” Ling cries as he hobbles to his friend.

“Yeah, yeah,” he coughs, hissing as he stands up. “I think my arm’s broken though.”

“Which one?”

“Left.”

Ling sighs with relief. That is something he can help with. “We’ll make splints. I can now say with absolute certainty that my leg is broken.”

" _ Shit _ ," Ed hisses, pulling himself up and taking Ling's arm over his shoulders.

_“This is cute and all, but if you don’t get to the point, I’ll crush you both,”_ Envy rumbles above them irritably.

“Envy, you see the broken up wall over there,” Ed weakly gestures with his left hand. “I need you to find the other pieces. As many as you can.”

_ “And why’s that?” _

“Just do it!”

The monster huffs and wanders off, blood lapping at their ankles in its wake. Ed holds his arm to his chest and helps Ling walk back to their little island. After gathering supplies, Ed lets Ling fashion the splints with his working hands

“So, do you actually have a plan? Or are you stalling?”

“I have the beginnings of one,” Ed says. “The wall next to us, it looks a lot like something I saw in Xerxes.”

Ling is about to point out that even though he’d been to the ruins, he doesn’t have much to offer on the visual end of things when something clicks.

_ Xerxes. _

“ _ Xerxes _ !” Ling gasps, reaching up to clutch his head in amazement.

“Yeah, Xerxes,” Ed says slowly, confused at Ling’s outburst.

“No no no, Ed,  _ Xerxes _ !” Ling says again, almost manically. “ _ That’s _ what I’ve been feeling! That nothing that I was talking about! I felt it in Xerxes! Or the remnant of it, at least.”

“Nothing? What do you mean?”

Ling rocks in his seat, unable to stand and pace but needing an outlet to his enthusiasm. “When we came to the west, we stopped in Xerxes because it was the birth of alkahestry, and might have had some hidden knowledge on the philosopher’s stone. But when we were there, the _ longmai _ , it’s like it was dead. It was awful and wrong, and we left because it was messing with my senses.” Ling reaches out and clamps his hand to Ed’s automail arm. “And your country, it’s felt off since the beginning, like it was dying. And when Gluttony began to swallow everything, I felt it again, like the  _ longmai _ was dying, and in here, it’s gone! It’s why I can’t see!”

“So you’re saying the feeling you got from Gluttony’s swallowing is the same as what you got from Xerxes. It’s also what’s affecting you here, right?”

“Yes.” Ling settles himself down enough to fix Ed’s arm. “I can feel the souls from the stone, all of their suffering, and it feels like they’re in a state of perpetual decay. It’s... maddening, to say the least,” he finishes with a shudder.

Ed hums thoughtfully. “So it’s even worse than I thought.” He sets his metal hand on Ling’s shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze. “Thanks for telling me that, Ling. That actually helps a lot.”

\---

A lot of the alchemy talk goes over his head, but he knows this: Ed is putting himself at risk to get Ling and Envy out of this place.

Envy, who is berating Ed for struggling with the idea that to get all of them out, he must perform human transmutation and sacrifice the life of another soul.

Ling wishes he still had some of that hesitation when it came to taking lives.

“Ling, if I don’t make it back, I want you to tell Al what these guys’ plan is.”

He scoffs. “Why should I? It’s not my country, I only came here to get the philosopher’s stone.”

Edward grunts indignantly. “Seriously? You’re just gonna let thousands of people die?”

He doesn’t take the bait. Rather, he gives Ed a smirk. “You’ve got people you love waiting for you. So make it back alive and tell them yourself.”

When Ed does the transmutation, and Ling steps through the portal, he feels himself being broken down, piece by piece, nimble fingers digging into his skin and pulling, and he’s falling, and he’s flying, and he sees light—how?—he’s hurtling towards it, and he sees it, he sees it all, he sees  _ her _ —

\---

When he comes back to himself, his head is pounding, and he’s unsure if the groaning he hears is coming from his own mouth or the tortured souls he’s currently buried under. Beyond that, he can hear a frantic voice punctuated by creaking steel. Alphonse? He pushes himself through the mass of quivering limbs blanketing him, breaching the surface and taking a breath of cold, musty air.

“Ling! You’re okay!” Al exclaims with relief.

“We’re back,” Ed confirms, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him out from under Envy completely. “You okay?” he asks, sounding a little unnerved.

He blinks and gives himself an assessment; His chest is tight, breathing slightly shallow from the pain, and while the splint is still secured to his leg, he doesn’t want to put any more unnecessary weight on it. “I’m not any worse. Why?”

Ed doesn’t answer immediately, stepping back to give him space. “Nothing, it’s just that your—ack!” he yelps as his younger brother lifts him in what Ling can only assume to be a painful hug.

Content to leave them be, for now, Ling drags his sword out in front of him. At his feet, there seems to be a small creature—a rat?—that squeaks and skitters past him. He tries to step out of its way, but nearly trips on a metal pipe as he feels just what the creature was running from. 

“Hohenheim?” Ed exclaims hotly.

It stands before them, mumbling to itself. He hears rustling fabric and skin rubbing against short hair—a beard—but every movement feels too large and exaggerated. He strains his ears further, and his blood runs cold.

He can’t hear it’s breathing.

“By any chance, do you mean Van Hohenheim? And how is it that you are acquainted with him?” it questions.

“He’s our father,” Alphonse states with trepidation.

It laughs, something that Ed obviously takes issue with. “For god's sake, forget about him! Who the hell are you? And why do you look just like him?” 

Look just like him. Ling feels his head start to swim, and the feeling grows stronger when he hears the crackle of alchemy, the  _ longmai  _ flaring in pain once more. He gasps once it stops, the brothers marveling at Ed’s healed injuries and Al’s repaired hand.

He lifts his blade and takes as strong of a stance as his weakened body will allow. _ “Monster!” _ he snarls in his mother tongue. “What are you? What have you done to the  _ longmai?” _

The monster barely acknowledges him, ordering the homunculus to eat him. The brothers quickly jump to his defense.

“This guy is our friend! If you want us happy, don’t kill him!”

“Yeah! You healed us, so heal him too!”

“Heal me? No, keep that disgusting thing  _ away _ from me!” Ling bites out just as his legs give in to his exhaustion, Ed quickly hefts him back up as Al places a steadying hand to his back. He steadfastly keeps his blade up, hissing to the brothers. “We need to get out of here. He’s not just with the homunculi, he’s their  _ source. _ ”

“All the more reason to get rid of him!” Ed counters.

“What are you conspiring too?” The monster asks monotonously. “I have no use for your friend, and any human without use to me is not worth my time, and must be removed.” 

“You dare look upon us humans and call us fools?” he spits. Alphonse presses down on his shoulder, reminding him of his very much broken leg and effectively stopping from stepping forward.

“If you notice an ant on the ground, do you waste your time to stop and consider it a fool?” The monster challenges, and the anger that surges through Ling is as dizzying as it is energizing.

Things start to get hazy from there, as Ed unceremoniously drops him and attacks.

“Are you okay to defend yourself in your condition right now, Ling?” Alphonse asks, clearly ready to leave the offense to his hotheaded brother.

Ling tries to give the younger boy a reassuring smile. “It doesn’t seem Ed has given us much of a choice.” He picks himself up gingerly, trying to preserve his energy. “You give me some cover, and I’ll try and cut him down.”

If Alphonse has the same objections to the idea of killing as his brother, he doesn’t acknowledge them to Ling. The boy gives him a sound of confirmation and tucks the prince close as they dodge around the other homunculi to reach their target.

“I’ll transmute the stone in two pillars. As he’s taking care of the one in front, you run up along the back!” Al says as he claps his hands, slamming them to the ground a moment after. 

Ling feels the vibrations through the ground, letting the stone carry him to the monster as he readies himself to swing. He hears the pillar in front of him break apart; the dust and rubble fly into his face and rears his arms back, then the rock under him shakes and shoots upward, hitting him in the abdomen and sending him flying. He tumbles to the ground, choking on dust, and forces himself to his hands and knees.

Before he can properly recover, he feels the  _ longmai _ twist in agony. He gags, falling back to the floor, and tries to breathe through the waves of nausea crashing over him. 

And then it’s gone. He gasps on the stuffy, cold air and hears the brothers clap their hand to continue their assault. 

Nothing happens.

He hears Envy heave himself up and slam his large hands down again, pinning the brothers. Before Ling can get up to help them, a pair of large meaty hands wrap around and squeeze, winding him. He’s carried a few paces before being thrown to the ground, his head cracking onto the stone. He feels the large homunculus sit on top of him, effectively preventing his escape.

He drifts, Envy’s rumbling taunts and Ed’s brash demands barely reaching his ears until he hears the monster speak once more.

“You may prove to be useful after all.”

\---

Ed thinks that this strange mixture of terror and exasperation is what Winry feels on a constant basis.

He also thinks—actually, he  _ knows _ —Ling is a bit of a selfish jerk and an idiot. What other kind of person would disregard other people’s warnings? Would pursue the impossible, no matter how dangerous? Would put his life on the line if it meant getting what he thought he wanted, what he  _ needed _ most?

Ed has always kind of hated looking in the mirror.

But all that self-reflection still leaves him powerless as the bearded bastard tips his hand and the philosopher’s stone falls onto the cut on Ling’s cheek, burrowing into his skin like a parasite.

The effect is immediate. 

Ling grunts, seizing up. He stays like that for a few seconds, red lightning shooting out from his back, before he spasms violently, releasing a bone-chilling scream. He writhes, bucking Gluttony off, and twists around on the floor, his limbs contorting at odd angles punctuated with loud snaps.

“Ling!” he cries, reaching out desperately.

“Don’t interfere!” Ling shouts, forcing himself on his hands and knees despite his body’s wild movements. “It’s okay… I know what I’m doing!” He coughs harshly, thick globs of blood streaming from his mouth and splashing to the ground. He shakily angles his head to the brothers, his sightless eyes somehow locking with Ed’s golden ones. His bloodied lips are pulled back in a macabre smile, and the gruesome sight makes Ed flinch. “I am the man who will be emperor of Xing,  _ Ling Yao! _ ”

As he finishes his declaration, something happens that Ed knows will haunt him just as much as his mother’s death, their attempt to bring her back, and Nina.

Ling’s eyes have strangely been open since they had returned from Gluttony’s stomach despite their inability to see, and they now bulge and shine with the red light. This was all the warning given before they burst, white tissue and optic fluid running down his face. The crimson light of the philosopher’s stone fills the empty sockets, flashing menacingly. Ling throws his head back, blood foaming from his lips as he continuously screams. His body continues to jerk and thrash as the red lightning flashes brighter and brighter.

But then abruptly, it stops. Ling goes silent, his body falling still, save for the occasional twitch, and the light clears. He takes a huge, gulping breath, and pitches forward, releasing it.

“Ling?” Ed prompts timidly, unsure if he’s prepared for Ling’s—or someone else’s—response.

Ling’s head turns, and the once scarred and discolored skin across his face is now smooth and healthy-looking. His eyes open, and rather than empty sockets or clouded lenses, sharp, wine-colored irises trace the noise to its source.

“You mean the guy I got this body from?” Ling says, but Ed knows it’s not his friend. His voice is somehow deeper, smoother, and dripping from his mouth like honey. The stranger in Ling’s skin bares his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Sorry, but your pal has checked out and left this body to Greed!”

He stands languidly, shaking off the shattered remains of the split and tearing off the bandage around his left hand, revealing the ouroboros. He wipes back of his hand across his mouth, tsking at the blood staining his body and the ground. “Sorry about the mess,” he drawls. “Just did a bit of spring cleaning.” He winks each eye, taking in his surroundings and stopping at Envy, letting out a low whistle. “Damn, if I knew I’d be seeing _ this _ ugly thing, I’d have saved it for later!”

Envy grumbles, his hands tightening around the brothers in irritation. “And if I knew that Father would be bringing  _ you _ back, I would have tried harder to kill the little blind brat.”

Ling—no,  _ not _ Ling—throws his head back with a loud cackle, and the movement is so unnatural, so unlike his bright and carefree laughter, that it pulls the brothers from their stupor.

“Did you say _ Greed? _ ”

\---

When Ling awakens, he expects pain and despair, to find himself in a hellish place like Gluttony, to feel Edward’s automail smashing into his face, to once again be overwhelmed by the screams of  _ want it must have it mine mine mine. _ Instead, he feels oddly invigorated, his extremities tingling and his breaths deep and full. The  _ longmai _ is gone, but for some reason, that doesn’t bother him. The sunlight is warm on his skin, and it is blessedly quiet, the soft breeze blowing through his hair and carrying the bustling life of Central City. He smiles, content.

“So, you’re finally awake?”

Ling starts. He feels his lips moving, his vocal cords vibrating, but all without his control. His grin widens. “Took you long enough. You missed quite the show, kid.”

He opens his eyes, and any response he meant to give is lost.

He  _ sees. _

The lush green grass, the clear blue sky. The tall, pale grey walls of the Amestrian military facilities. It’s so stark and bold and  _ wonderful. _ He feels dizzy and faint with emotion, but his body gives no physical reaction. He desperately wants to reach out, to put images to the sensations he feels once again, to take in the features of the strangers around him, and the familiar desire to see her face nearly overwhelms him in its new intensity.

“Kid?”

**_“_ ** _ What do you want, beast? _ **_”_ ** he snaps, not taking kindly to his first moments of restored vision being interrupted by the homunculus.

“Hey, don't you go sassing me, Princey,” Greed fires back, standing from his perch on the roof of one of the tall buildings. He turns on his heel, walking dangerously close to the edge and slipping his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. “I took the liberty of getting you cleaned up. Some gratitude would be nice.”

**_“_ ** _ Well, I never asked for that, so I refuse to give you any such thing, _ **_”_ ** Ling huffs, hoping Greed can see his upturned nose in their shared mind’s eye. He remains defiantly silent for a bit, ruminating on the past few days’ events. He knows it’s no use trying to use his body at the moment, and he can already feel the effort it takes to interact with the disgusting entity within him start to take its toll, but he needs to get a message to Lan Fan and Fu somehow. How could he do that without revealing them to Greed and the rest of the enemy? 

He remembers very little  _ hanzi _ , and it’s been years since he’s had any reason to write anything down at all, but he does remember something that will ensure his vassals’ safety and understanding, and to assure the message is from him, even if this monster learned to understand Xingese through his vessel.

**_“_ ** _ Greed, I do have one favor to ask of you. _ **_”_ **

\---

“What do you want?” Ed bites out, fists clenched. He'd rather things not get violent in public, but if Greed is looking for a fight, he’d be hard-pressed not to comply.

Instead, Greed holds a scrap of bloodstained cloth, likely from Ling’s own discarded clothes. “Your friend has a message he’d like you two to deliver.”

Ed takes it and inspects it. There are two Xingese characters drawn on the crumpled fabric. The writing looks fresh, and Ed distantly wonders if Ling used his blood rather than ink for the sake of theatrics or practicality. “It’s in another language. What does it say?”

Greed shrugs. “Not sure. He just wants you to give it to the girl he’s got waiting for him.”

Ed glares at the homunculus, crumpling the note in his fist. “Ling is blind. He can’t write.” He steps forward into Greed’s space with a snarl. “This is a trick, isn’t it! You’re trying to track down Lan Fan so you can kill her!”

Greed scoffs, pushing Ed back with a forceful poke to the chest. “Please, I’ve got more class than that. Besides, I don’t fight women.” He crosses his arms and smirks. “And I don’t tell lies, either. Princey wrote the message. Said it was the name of the girl’s mom, and that she’ll understand when she sees it. I’m guessing it’s a code word or something.” He turns, leisurely strolling away from them down the brick path. “Believe me or don’t, it’s no skin off my nose. It seems important to your friend, so I’d pass it on if I were you.”

“Ling!” Ed calls after him.

“It’s still Greed, kid!” he waves his hand over his head and continues onward.

Ed grumbles, looking down at the cloth again. Luckily, the characters hadn’t smudged. “Mingzhu…” he mumbles. While he couldn’t understand the text himself, Greed had no way of knowing how significant a detail that was for Ling to provide had the brothers—more specifically Ed—suspected anything about the homunculus’ intentions. 

He hands the message to his brother. “Al, take this to Lan Fan. I’m gonna go see what I can do about repairing some of the damage we did in the city yesterday.” He raps the chest piece with the back of his hand. “Besides, you’ve got another patient to deliver to Dr. Knox.”

\---

Greed was pretty sure being alive wasn’t meant to be this boring.

While he wasn’t the fondest of taking orders, from Father or bratty teenagers otherwise, he found himself at a loss for himself when he wasn’t being told what to do. Come to think of it, what has he actually done that he wanted since he was born? He cleaned his new body and dressed more comfortably. The baggy cotton trousers were probably comfortable when they weren’t crusted with blood and dirt, but shaggy and shirtless wasn’t quite his style.

So he’s made himself more presentable in his new body, what else….

Nothing. He hasn’t really done a single thing he wanted this entire time. Granted, it’s only been a few hours, but still. He was Greed the Avaricious. What the hell is he doing sitting around when he has all of this free time? Hell, what’s stopping him from just bumming off on his own and ignoring Father—

The thought is cut short by an intense burning sensation erupting from his chest. He shivers from surprise more than anything and clears his throat, the feeling gone almost as quickly as it had come. Strange…

“What do you think of your new body, Greed?”

He turns and sees a stern man clad in the military uniform approaching him. He only sees one green eye, the other obscured by the eyepatch, but knows the man’s gaze is far more acute and intense than any human could ever hope to achieve.

“You must be Wrath. Yeah, the body’s great, even if I had to fine-tune it a bit.” He makes a vague gesture to his eyes with a shrug before he sits up a bit straighter and grins. “And get a load of this; it’s _ royalty _ . The kid’s a prince of Xing!” He laughs, turning back to the vast city laid out before them. “He  _ let _ me take control too! Thought I could make him emperor or some shit,” he sneers. “Ambitious little brat. Can’t help but respect him for it.”

Wrath hums thoughtfully. “I spoke to him once about politics. His ideas on leadership were indeed amusing.” He looks over the country he posed the ruler of with disdain. “He said a king’s duty was to the people, as if the people actually matter.”

Greed feels something stir in his mind, almost like fury, but he pushes it aside for now. That is not his sin, and the middle of a conversation is hardly the time to address it.

“He willingly put himself in harm's way to protect his companion. What a fool,” Wrath continues, oblivious to Greed’s inner conflict. “His idealistic ways have led him to lose everything. Typical humans.” He says “humans” the same way one would say “vomit” or “blister”.

A snarl erupts deep from his throat, and Greed feels himself be pushed back by the prince. He barks out in Xingese, and it takes all off Greed’s effort to keep the body still rather than reach over to strangle the Fuhrer with his sharp claws. The prince keeps spitting curses and insults until Greed manages to wrestle him back down, firmly setting himself in control of his vessel once more. 

The other man’s eye is wide with surprise. It seems even the Ultimate Eye isn’t able to predict the rage of an entitled teenager. The idea makes Greed laugh, letting him ease back into the conversation.

“I know. He’s patient, isn’t he? Looking for every opportunity to take back control. I gotta stay on my toes!”

Wrath chuckles humorlessly, no doubt formulating a report to Father of his insubordination. Not that Greed cares. “So, he’s willing to undertake a monster like you if it promises the throne?” He turns to leave. “The avarice of humans may rival your own, Greed.”

He’s unsure if the desire to slash open the other man’s throat is the kid’s or his own, or why the idea sends a chill up his spine.

\---

She is unused to this kind of treatment while she is on duty. Not that she’s ever off duty, really, but she knows that to do her job well, she must be healthy and well-rested. Back home, an injury would be acknowledged, treated, and she would be expected to return to guarding the prince as soon as she could stand. And despite the prince’s protests and her grandfather’s reserved concerns, she would do just that.

But just as everything else, it is backward in Amestris; they care not of her class or her oath to her clan. They see an injured girl and have sidelined her until they deem her recovered, which according to Dr. Knox won’t be for another few weeks if she _ won’t stop getting out of bed goddammit! _

But she doesn’t have weeks to heal or months to recover from automail surgery. The prince needs her _ now. _

Alphonse pushes her back down and pulls the blanket up to her chin, promising to bring back food to help her regain her strength, but lets out a startled gasp. “Oh, I don’t think you should be up yet,” he says. Another person stands at the door. Small, judging by the weight on the creaking floorboards. “Um, it was Mei Chang, right?”

_ Chang? _

She hears the whistle of a throwing knife and snatches a book from the nightstand to block it. Sure enough, there is a young girl at the doorway, glaring as menacingly as she can manage with such a young face. Appearances are hardly any help in this battle, though. If the stories are true, then the young princess is more than a skilled alkahestrist and capable fighter.

_ “I expected trouble, but imagine my surprise finding Prince Yao and one of his dogs so far from home,” _ the girl says with a smirk, stepping into the room with a small panda on her shoulder baring its sharp teeth.

_ “And you are far from Zhangjiajie, Princess Chang.” _ Lan Fan sits up straighter, dropping the pierced book to the floor.

_ “I had to come down from the mountains one day.” _ She steps past Alphonse, the boy still reeling at the quick turn of events.  _ “His Imperial Majesty's wish for immortality is a small price to pay for the safety of my clan.” _

Lan Fan allows herself a smug grin, reaching under her trousers for her kunai strapped to her calf.  _ “Well, you’re too late. The prince has already found it.” _

_ “That makes things easier,” _ she sneers.  _ “I’ll just take it from his corpse instead!” _

Lan Fan throws the blanket off and stands from the bed in a flash, brandishing her weapon.  _ “I’d like to see you try!” _

The girl unsheathes more blades from her sleeves and holds them between her fingers.

“Hey!” Alphonse cries out, his hands held out between the two girls. “I don’t know what’s going on, but stop fighting—”

“Do not butt into our national affairs!” Both girls yell, nearly toppling the armored boy over. Their interruption dealt with, the two girls glare back at each other.

_ “Don’t expect me to show mercy to a child,” _ Lan Fan warns lowly, her eyes flicking from her opponent’s to the silver daggers in the girl’s hands.

_ “And don’t expect me to show mercy to a mutt!”  _ The Chang girl spits back, her finger flexing. Lan Fan readies herself to parry the projectiles, plotting out a path to reach her opponent as quickly as possible through the piles of trash surrounding them.

The door is thrown open by Dr. Knox, his shouts enough to deter their violent bickering for now. He ushers the princess out of the room, wisely not trusting the two girls to be together at the moment, or ever, really.

The girl will be leaving soon anyway, her injuries easily taken care of. Before Alphonse leaves Lan Fan to her prescribed rest, she calls after him for a final request for the night.

“Do not let her charm deceive you, that girl is dangerous,” she warns lowly. “She is of a rival clan, and her presence here threatens the prince.” Alphonse stiffens, and she closes her eyes, falling back into her years of training to calm herself, to focus. “But she is no danger to him at the moment, so I will not press the issue.”

“Thanks, Lan Fan.” He steps through the door, turning around just before he closes it. “Just get some rest. And don’t worry. Ling will be fine.”

She’ll believe it when she can see to it herself.

For now, she takes the prince’s message from where it’s safely tucked into her trousers and sets it in her lap, tracing her fingers over the name of her late mother.

_ “Pearl.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're concerned about Mei's characterization, please don't be! She's a sweet and kind girl, but at this point, she believes the Yao are her greatest enemy. She's not going to be nice to them, and words, especially cruel ones, hold power.
> 
> "hanzi" - Chinese writing.
> 
> "Zhangjiajie" - a real place in China, and most likely the place that the Chang clan's canon geography is based on, considering that "Zhang" is a more accurate reading of the family name.
> 
> And I saved this translation for this chapter because it acts as both a name and a real word! "Mingzhu" means "Pearl!" BAM. LOOK AT THAT! I AM A MASTER OF SYMBOLISM! FEAR ME!
> 
> Sorry, I just love when the title or a key symbol of a story starts to make more sense, and I'm so stoked that I finally got to do something like that with one of my own works!
> 
> See ya next time!

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys want to chat or ask questions about this fic (or anything really!) feel free to yell at me at @thepancakepenguin on tumblr!


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